Dictator Adolf Eric Cartman
by Laura Barton
Summary: Cartman not only suceeds in becoming the President of the USA, but it looks like he has good intentions. He's out to improve the world. The question now is: are his ideas of improvement the same as everyone elses? --Reviews Loved--
1. Prologue

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Prologue_

It was an odd day in South Park when Eric Cartman, known for being fat, stupid, racist, anti-Semitic, opinionated, obnoxious – okay, I'm sure the point is clear – took interest in school instead of being an all around asshole. Many were shocked, confused and wondered if maybe he'd been replaced by some other kid or maybe possessed by someone or something. Didn't seem to be the case though, as he kept insisting that he genuinely cared about school now. I, of all people, didn't believe this for a second. I'd been ripped on by him far too much to believe that he suddenly cared about school. He was plotting something. He had to be.

His grades shot up with his increased studying, rivaling mine in many cases, which scared the shit out of me, I must say. Wasn't I the smart one of our little group of friends? The only other person who'd even come near to matching my grades was Wendy Testaburger, but I never cared. When _Cartman_ started to get close to my high-percentage-average, it pissed me right the hell off. At first I'd thought that that was his plan; to make me look like an ass by beating me in school, but that was too simple. It took me quite a long time before I figured out what his plan actually was, years in fact.

His bigotry-based comments and actions ceased, even against me, the Jewish, "Daywalker", kid that he could easily rile when younger simply by calling his mom a bitch. And as those comments faded to non-existence, his studying increased. That was all he did with his spare time, at least according to his mother, but who could trust her, right? We all began to see she was right though because with all this studying he wasn't eating a lot, causing the weight to drop off his "big bones" rapidly. It was fucking scary to see an averaged weight Cartman.

The subjects he chose to do this studying in didn't seem too conspicuous. Business, social science, math, among other things. People just started to assume that he wanted to get a high paying job in the business world, but he said he wanted to work for the government because they pay a shit load of money.

_That_ should have sent sirens blaring in all of our heads. We should have stopped him right then and there, screaming for the FBI to come arrest him or something. But no, we were all idiots, grinning stupidly at the mere thought that someone from our little, piss-hole, hick-town could be important in the government.

After graduating high school with a scholarship, he moved on to a prestigious university, continuing on in way to get to his apparent dream job of being in the government. Hell, there were times when he was doing better than _I_ was, which again stuck fear in me. Then he actually _got_ a job in the government, with news reporters always saying that he would work his way up to the top and be a great and successful man.

The sirens were bloody well going off now. They were deafening me. But I seemed to be the only one who was afraid.

Stan and Kenny said that I was just being paranoid and that Cartman had changed for the better. "We don't need to worry about him anymore," they'd tell me. No, we did. We _really_ fucking did. Cause now we're all up shit's creek without a god damned paddle and there's no shore in sight.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Firstly, I know the prologue's short. I aim for longer chapters, which will be, by the way, written in the third person.

Updates appear here and there, when I can get to writing this. This fanfic is not playing nice with me, but I'm determined to write it.

**Please be aware that I am a Canadian.** So, while I try to keep things correct with American aspects of the story, I may end up being completely off. I ask that you help me along with these things if you see an issue and please don't bite my face off because of any errors.

This is my _first_ slash/attempted slash fic. Haha, so it may be awkward, but I wanted to give it a try. )


	2. Chapter 01: Hello, Mr Cartman

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Chapter 01: Hello, Mr. Cartman_

He could hear the cameras flashing around him as he made another speech. He was getting pretty damn tired of making similar speeches seemingly every day to another group of people. Especially when some of the people in the groups he'd recognize, which kind of freaked him out, since he got this sense that they were following him. Was he gaining stalkers? Nonetheless, he found this kind of thing drastically boring, but he also knew that it was entirely necessary for what he was trying to do. Becoming the President of the United States wasn't the easiest thing in the world. If it was, he wouldn't have worked his ass off (literally, some might say) to get there.

On the other hand though, he wasn't finding things to be _too_ difficult. He already had a lot of public favour and had been on the news because of his achievements, which mostly circled around his quick rise in the governmental system. They were all so damn awed by how powerful he was becoming and not only because he was doing it so rapidly but also because he was doing it so young. Hell, he was only thirty-one years old; half the time _he_ even wondered how he'd done it.

Then he'd realize it was because he'd actually started to care about what he did. School work became important and though it was just to piss that Jew off at first, it had soon become for something else. Greater plans in which he planned to use to make the world to what he saw to be better. The best part was that everyone in the United States seemed to be behind him on it and they didn't even know what he was going to do yet.

"Of course there are those of you wondering what makes my promises so much better than the promises of the other man running for this position, and I do have an answer to give you," Eric Cartman's loud voice rang out and it was loud enough that he probably wouldn't need a microphone, but the microphone was a definite bonus. "I'm not here to make specific promises that I may never accomplish or that I never plan to accomplish. I do have one promise to make though that I will use all my power to achieve, and that is to make this country a better place! My power, the money, it will all be used wisely to bring justice to the people. It will be used to fix what needs to be fixed. To help start hopefully the world in a path to better living. That is what I plan to do!"

It was well present in the formerly large man's mind that making such a vague speech could cripple him and cause people to lose faith in him, but so far it seemed to be working quite well. The cheering was enough to tell him that as well as the good reports he saw in the papers day after day. The papers that almost always had the exact same type of photograph to accompany the article. The photograph which held the face of a suit-clad, auburn hair man smiling at the crowd and making the people happy (or at least they looked happy).

Said suit-clad, auburn-haired man stepped away from the podium, walking down the steps where a group of reporters swarmed him. The men that acted as Eric Cartman's bodyguards took their places in keeping these journalists back, but their swarming only amused him. He watched as they fought feverously against the larger-built men to get to the thirty-one-year-old-could-be-President while they all the while continued to snap photos and keep their cameras running with the microphones pointed at him.

"Mr. Cartman! Mr. Cartman!" they all called out in means to grab his attention, but even without his attention they would continue on with their questioning.

"Mr. Cartman! Do you think the people will vote for you?" one shouted his way as he practically dropped the microphone as he was jerked violently by the rest of the reporters crowding around.

"Who the people vote for is up to them. I just hope that whoever they pick is the right choice," he replied with the implication stuck in there that he thought that he was the right choice. Whether they would pick up on this or not was beyond him, nor did he really care because he did think that he was indeed the best choice.

"Mr. Cartman! What do you think of your competition?" another launched an attack in form of question, holding out the microphone so that he could catch the reply.

Though he was growing tired of all their repetitive questions he answered the ones he could and felt like answering anyway. This was something he was growing used to, something he knew he would have to grow used to since he planned to make huge changes in their country. These changes he knew would cause controversy, but he was set on doing them all the same.

With eventuality he was able to pass through the mob of people and make it to the clichéd, black and shiny car that was waiting for him at the curb. With a final grin and wave to the people and reporters, he stepped into the vehicle, his bodyguards climbing into one behind him, and told the driver where to go. Even if he hadn't told said driver where to go, the man would have known anyway. There were few places that Mr. Cartman would be going.

Cartman leaned back against the plush seat of the car, sighing and closing his eyes while he relaxed a little. He'd grown accustomed to the headaches that came with all their shouting to the point where he could just ignore them. At first it had been hell in a damned hand basket, but he was okay now. So much so okay that he didn't need to take out any headache medicine anymore. He always kept it with him just in case, but lately he'd been fine.

While he very much just wanted to go home and sleep, he couldn't and he was aware of this. The work day wasn't over yet. Others would probably tell him he could go home, but with his mind dead set on keeping up his good appearance, his intentions were to keep working until he could work no more, at which point he planned for the country to take sympathy for him. As long as they still believed in him.

So for now, he would keep working.

xxxxxxx

It was rounding eleven o'clock at night by the time Cartman got back to his house from working. He did nothing more than enter the large condo, remove his shoes, walk to the living room, turn on a light, sit down on the couch and then turn on the television. Soon he would probably even be heading for bed if he didn't fall asleep on the couch beforehand. The time being though would be consumed by him watching the eleven o'clock news to see if there was anything interesting being reported.

Of course on the news as of late he kept witnessing events that were being reported solely because he was there. Generally when he saw himself on the television he would take the time to study his flaws; to study so he could make himself better the next time. He discovered that he often found flaws, usually insignificant things that other people wouldn't notice, but he noticed and it often bugged him. He wasn't quite a perfectionist, but pretty close, especially when it came to getting what he wanted done and getting it done well.

He'd always been one to scrutinize politicians on television, or even when he saw them in person. He was constantly looking at them, judging them and thinking that they could do much better. He could recall a time when he was younger when he was sitting on his couch at his mother's house and eating some Cheesy Poofs while screaming at politicians who couldn't hear him on the television. It was his opinion that they never did anything right; they were always doing things in stupid ways that would get them no where. That's when he'd really become interested in changing that by becoming a politician himself. _He_ would be the one to change things, at least that's what he was convinced of.

Even as a child he began to recognize that the government was too damn concerned with other countries when he saw that they needed to fix their own first. There were so many problems that became present to Cartman that he wanted to go down and meet the President and tell him what to do. He wanted to smack him across the face and get his attention so that the _real_ problems could be addressed. But he couldn't do that and he formulated the plan.

He could clearly remember the shock on people's faces when he'd gotten his first A in the seventh grade. At first they'd thought maybe the teacher had been paid off somehow to give the boy an A, many even suspected Mrs. Cartman for having something to do with it, but it turned out it was a genuine A . One that he'd earned all by himself by picking up his studies and paying attention in class. They'd begun to watch him, and noticed that he took notes all the time instead of slacking off and playing video games or napping behind a propped up text book. When they realized this, many thought it was a bloody miracle, that they wouldn't have another deadbeat in their town.

The expression that was lodged in his memory the clearest though came from a one Kyle Broflovski. 

"Lookie here, Kyle. I got an A !" Cartman recalled to this day using those words to grab his friends' attention, though especially Kyle's.

"Yeah right, fat ass," Kyle snapped back in an instant, disbelieving that Cartman could get anywhere near an A. He knew Cartman to often be happy when he got a D minus, so why would Cartman even go for getting an A ? But then he caught a glimpse of the paper with the red A written at the top. Before he could even stop himself, his hand snatched the paper away and Kenny and Stan crowded around him to check it out, too.

"Kyle, Kyle, no need to check the answers. They're all right." Cartman just crossed his still-somewhat chubby arms and grinned. The look of panic in the Jewish boy's grey-hazel eyes was priceless and caused him such glee.

"You must have cheated!" Kyle decided after seeing all the answers were perfectly correct, as he should know since he'd aced that test himself.

"Or it was his mom," Kenny's muffled voice came from behind the hood of the parka as per usual. Many often wondered how long the boy would wear a parka and refuse to let the hood down. Maybe he was hiding something?

"Shut the hell up, Kenny!" Cartman made to swing at the blonde, but he dodged easily. "And I didn't cheat. That's a genuine A right there!"

"Cartman, since when do you get A's of any sort?" Stan now inquired, handing the test paper back before Kyle ripped it to shred in his anger.

"Since right now." Cartman took the test and neatly folded it before putting it in his backpack where it would be safe from the enraged redhead's clutches. He'd definitely be showing his mother that lovely piece of paper later.

"No way, I won't believe it!" Kyle shook his head in disbelief.

"Believe it, Jew-bag, cause it's real."

This had continued up all the way to graduation, even after graduation from university. Cartman had begun to excel and there seemed to be no stopping him, no matter how hard the young Jewish man had tried to prove that it couldn't all be intelligence. Cartman didn't have intelligence, according to Kyle.

Now Cartman saw that he was probably about to become president of the whole United States of America. He would be the one standing at the head of the people under the flag of red, white and blue. Cartman could see Kyle's expression already and he even wondered if there would be a heart attack caused by shock involved. One could only hope.

"Elections are just a week away and people are getting anxious to vote. With some it is clear who exactly they are going to vote for, but with others there still seems to be some skepticism between the candidates," a reporter on the television told the man sitting on the couch.

"We'll just have to change that, won't we?" Cartman spoke to himself, taking note of everything the reporter was saying. He needed to sway the people in his favour, after all as he was determined not to lose.

"Many are evidently in favour of Eric Cartman, who, if elected, will be the youngest President that the United States has seen. Perhaps it is because of his youth that some are aiming to vote for him, though it is suspected that it is his promise to make our country a better place. Of course many have said that in the past and done little to achieve it, but the passion behind this man's words appears to be fully genuine," the reporter, a middle-aged man continued to say. As he was making this report he was standing in front of one of the main buildings where the elections would be taking place.

Cartman merely nodded at the word genuine, as if the man was right in front of him instead of a pixilated image on the television screen. Maybe it was just habit of listening to these people and having to respond somehow, maybe he was just a little odd; either way it didn't really matter.

As he continued to sit on the couch, he attempted to stay awake to at least hear what the next day's weather would be, though it didn't affect him all too much. The need for sleep was just something he couldn't fight off however; his eyelids were becoming increasingly heavy and closing without him even realizing it quite a few times. When he did realize, he'd snap them back open, only to have it happen again. Eventually, the sleep won, leaving him to fall asleep on the couch.

As he slept, Cartman dreamt. He dreamt of the only thing that had been consuming his thoughts, waking and sleeping, lately: being president of the U.S. of A. Even taking into consideration how much he'd matured over the years and years of growing up, he still wanted to rub that one fact in Kyle's face. That he'd gotten a better job; that he was the one who had the most power. Kyle's constant protest had pushed him forward, that and the praise he'd received from everyone else. He had to admit though, Kyle was the only smart one of the lot of them.

This dream specifically dealt with Election Day, where even Stan (who'd once refused to vote, much to his regret later on) and Kenny were voting for him. This time, the voting wasn't for something so simple as choosing between a Giant Douche and a Turd Sandwich for a mascot for some crummy school that everyone hated. It was of course much more important than that, and of course Cartman came out victorious; it was his dream after all.

As mentioned, even in his quite mature state, he was still rubbing this in Kyle's face, the face of a boy who was now sobbing because he'd been outdone by a 'fat ass'. In the real world, as well as in the dream, Cartman was grinning broadly, watching as all hope was taken away from the Jewish boy. There was no changing it now. Cartman could do whatever he wanted. Whatever he wanted… Whatever he wanted…

The man awoke with a start, hearing the television's volume at a sudden highest level. Apparently in his sleep he'd begun to press the volume louder and louder for the object that some called the 'idiot box'. Returning the volume to its normal level, Cartman stretched and turned it off. He ran his hand through his short hair before throwing the remote on the couch as he stood up. As he was heading towards his bedroom to sleep in his much-more-comfortable-than-the-couch bed, he was beginning to unbutton the shirt he was wearing to trade it for whatever he chose to wear as pajamas. Whether they were actually pajamas or just a shirt and a pair of boxers, he didn't really care. Just as long as he could sleep.


	3. Chapter 02: Telephone

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Chapter 2: Telephone_

As the red haired man entered into his apartment, he threw his keys on table in the entranceway, shutting the door behind him as well. He clicked the lock and strung the chain lock, ensuring that no one would be able to break into his apartment, at least not as easily as if it was unlocked. He had both locks for extra reassurance. No, he wasn't paranoid, but he wouldn't put it past anyone to try and thieve at one point or another. People had already tried to break into his place of living; lucky for him he'd been home and able to prevent them from stealing anything. That would have been disastrous.

He'd already kicked off his shoes at the door and was now loosening the tie around his neck. He'd always hated ties, but he was aware that it made him look more professional, so he suffered with wearing one everyday to his place of employment. Pretty much everyone there wore ties, even some of the women, signaling that it was perhaps a higher classed place, but he felt anything but high classed. Somehow saying that working with computers – to find viruses, hack-proof systems and the likes – didn't seem like a high class kind of job to him. Regardless, he wore a tie.

As he entered into the main living area, what some might call a living room, he noticed the little red light on his answering machine blinking. He hadn't been expecting anyone to call, but apparently someone had anyway. It was in a casual way that he pushed the play button, thinking that it wasn't all too important and he left the room, though still sticking close enough by to hear the message. He was sure that he had the machine turned up loud enough anyway, but better to stick by just in case.

"You have one message. Message one," the automated speaker said on the answering machine before turning to the voice of the one calling.

"Well hello there, Kyle," the voice came from the speaker.

At this point, Kyle returned to the room where the machine was in a hurry, recognizing the voice instantly and wondering what it wanted. How had it even gotten his phone number?

"In case your Jew brain can't tell, this is Presidential candidate, Eric Theodore Cartman. I'm just calling to tell you not to forget about voting this week! It's imperative that you vote, Kyle. Who knows, maybe your vote will even make me lose, though I highly doubt that," the voice continued on with a highly amused laugh. "Well, that's all I have to say to you, Jew. Vote!"

The automated speaker went on to tell him what time that Cartman had called and what day, as well as anything else it could muster. Kyle wasn't listening to it though, glaring at the machine as if it was Cartman himself and not just something that had borne his voice. It was indeed stupid and childish on both men's parts that they still got under each other's skin, but Kyle suspected that Cartman would just always be able to piss him off, no matter what.

Kyle could picture them both in fifty years sitting in a retirement home and still pissing each other off. Assuming they still had contact with each other by then, of course.

"Do yah like mah new wheel chair, Kyle?" how he pictured an old man Cartman to speak would ask. "It's brand new and has the latest technology!" That bald or grey headed man would just be grinning his toothless grin, too, as if to show that he'd won somehow.

"Drop dead, you old retard!" Kyle's own aged voice would then order as he shook a wrinkly skinned fist at him.

After a moment of staring, he promptly deleted the message. He hit the button quite hard, and wondered for a second if he broke it, but he listened and the automated speaker told him that his pressing the delete button had worked just fine. He then headed off into his bedroom to change into clothes that would be more comfortable to sit around the house in. He went into the room in a business suit, while he came out in a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt that was at least two sizes too large for his small frame. It was like some magic act; go in the box – or room in this case – in one set of clothing and come out in another. Poof!

His stomach led him to the kitchen next, demanding that it be filled with some sort of food or another, so he complied. The kitchen wasn't too big, considering it was an apartment sized kitchen after all, but big enough that two people could move around pretty well without too much hassle. At least, that's what he was told and assumed; he was the only one that was ever actually in that kitchen since he lived alone and rarely had guests. Usually the only people who would come visit him would be Ike, but even that was rare. Kyle preferred to go to other people's houses than have them come to his. None of his friends seemed to argue with this and his mother and father were always delighted to have him come back home.

The refrigerator door opened with the pull of one hand and he bent at the waist to peer into it for anything that looked appetizing. Sure there was food in there, quite a bit of it actually since he'd only just done groceries the other day. At the moment though, none of it looked good in a sense that he wanted to eat it, which caused him to sigh because he had a feeling it was going to be one of those nights. One of those nights that no matter what was in the house to eat, he didn't want any of it and probably wouldn't eat at all. Of course it wasn't the best idea in the world not to eat, but he just couldn't help it sometimes. Some nights he'd end up ordered take out when this happened, but most of the time he didn't.

He could imagine his mother scolding him sharply as he closed the fridge door. 'Kyle! How can you not eat when people are starving all over the world?!' was something she'd probably yell at him. She just liked to nag him, or so he thought a lot of the time. It'd always been like that, hadn't it? Yeah, ever since the day he was born, he wouldn't doubt. Of course he couldn't remember quite that far back, but he still wouldn't doubt it. Hell, she'd probably used that same line of people starving around the world when he was an infant refusing to eat whatever she was trying to shove in his mouth.

So instead of standing around in the kitchen for what easily could have turned into an hour of staring at food and trying to make himself want to eat it, he headed for the living room, planning on finding something good to watch on the television. Or maybe he'd stick on a movie. Television was annoying lately; commercials for elections everywhere and the same went for the news. He refused to watch it on normal occasions, but with Cartman being plastered all over the television screen he refused to watch it even more. Wasn't it bad enough he had to grow up with the asshole?

He opted for watching one of the movies one of his friends, who was also a co-worker, had suggested that he watch. He'd rented it the day before, but hadn't had a chance to sit down and watch it, though now it seemed that he would have time. In normal circumstances, he wouldn't have even picked up the movie and that was because it was a horror movie. It was rare that he'd watch any horror movies for two reasons. One, in his opinion, they weren't all too interesting and never scared him, and second was because he'd always find things wrong. He'd always find something that couldn't logically be realistic in any sense, and it drove him nuts. He just couldn't sit though a whole movie like that; it made him too angry.

Actually, it wasn't even just horror movies. There were many, many genres of movies that he found too many flaws that couldn't make them realistic of believable. Pretty much the only movies he could watch like that were comedies because he knew they weren't _supposed_ to be logical, for the most part.

After popping the DVD into the player, he sat down on the couch, shifting to get comfortable and then pressing play on the remote control. He was also mentally preparing himself for a bunch of angry thoughts that he knew would probably storm into his head if the movie was like pretty much every other horror movie he'd watched. He didn't think they even deserved to be called horror movies due to their lack of scaring him. The last movie that had scared him wasn't even a horror movie; it had mostly scared the shit out of his little nine-year-old self because of all the graphic violence and the likes.

The movie had barely started when his telephone rang again; this time of course, he was there to hear it. Without even bothering to pause the movie, he twisted around and reached behind the couch on the table where the phone sat. It wasn't too long before he had the receiver in his hand.

"Hello," he spoke into the phone, his eyes staring at the television screen in a bored fashion.

"Hey, Kyle, it's Stan," the voice on the other end of the line told him.

"What's up, Stan?" Kyle didn't need Stan to tell him that it was Stan; he somehow always knew Stan's voice as if it was his own.

The two weren't exactly best friends anymore, considering they lived states apart, but they still tried to keep in touch and stay friends. People were always amazed to hear how long they'd been friends. Wasn't it usually that friends drifted apart when they got older, especially when they hit high school? That had been the case with several of their South Park peers, yet somehow Stan and Kyle, as well as Kenny and Cartman had remained friends (if one would call Cartman a friend). Those four boys had been inseparable, despite their general hatred towards each other a lot of the time and despite their arguments.

Some would look at that scenario and say how grossly touching it was, but the boys, now really men, never seemed to care. They all seemed to keep in contact every once in a while, except for Cartman, who'd become increasingly busy with work, obviously. They'd all become increasingly busy with work, including Kenny, who wouldn't allow himself to stay in poverty forever, but Cartman seemed to be the busiest of the bunch.

"Just curious to know if Cartman bombarded you with a reminder about the election, too," Stan told him.

When he'd arrived home that day, there'd been a message on his machine from a one Eric Theodore Cartman, so subtly reminding him that there were elections soon and also implying that Stan should vote for him. Stan honestly didn't give a damn if Cartman was president or not. At one point in his life he probably would have been fiercely against it, but he was truly convinced that Cartman had changed.

"Ugh, yes," Kyle groaned in irritation, having forgot about that already. "Don't know how the stupid ass got my number, but he did."

"He's almost President of the United States. He could probably get anyone's phone number if he really wanted to," Stan chuckled lightly.

"He could probably get anyone's number even if he wasn't going to be president," Kyle told him, really believing it, too. Cartman was a conniving bastard; he could probably get anything he wanted.

"Haha, probably," the raven haired man laughed on his end of the telephone conversation. "I take it you're not going to vote for him?"

"Why would I?" Kyle watched as one of the characters in the movie was venturing up a set of stairs to see what the hell all the noise up there was. Of course Kyle knew what would come after that.

"Still holding a grudge against him, huh?" Stan paused a moment, hearing a scream come from Kyle's end. "What the hell?"

"Some stupid movie. I'm regretting putting it on," Kyle replied as the one who'd been venturing up the stairs was stabbed by the antagonist of the movie. Of course they were; that's what always happened, wasn't it? Especially since they were the typical dumb blonde, right? Yes, of course.

"I see. Well, that's all I called for. Going to call Kenny and see if Cartman thought to call him. Talk to you later," Stan concluded.

"Yeah, bye," Kyle said, nodding vaguely for no apparent reason before hanging up the phone as well.

Kyle knew Cartman probably did call Kenny. He probably called everyone he knew from his childhood just to say to vote for him, even if he didn't actually right out say it. It reminded him of the one time that Cartman had gotten a spot on the Cheesy Poofs commercial and phoned everyone he knew to tell them to watch it. At that time, none of them had been home, but he'd still called them all up anyway. In then end all the air time the commercial people had given him was about two seconds of him saying 'lame' while wearing a stupid, orange costume. He'd been pissed as hell when no one actually saw his two seconds of fame, too.

This was different though, insanely different. If Cartman won this 'competition' he wouldn't just be getting two seconds of television time. No, he'd be getting at least four years of time in the driver's seat of the whole country. Who knew what he could do in that amount of time? He could probably cause a third world war if he wanted to, and Kyle often thought that he was the only one who realized this. Cartman couldn't be trusted.

Hell, Cartman was lucky he could even run for president. While it had once been that the minimum age had been thirty-five for presidency, it had been lowered by five years by public demand. People were convinced that they needed younger presidents to run the country, for the young were the smart ones, or so they said. It hadn't been the easiest of things to change this, but it happened in the end, and now Cartman, as well as any other thirty and up year-olds could run for running the country.

By half-way through the movie, the red-head had decided he really didn't like it and that he would have to tell his friend that they were full of shit when they'd said it was good. He even considered asking for twenty bucks for telling him to watch the movie. Some of it for the fee of the actual rental, but most of it for many long minutes of his life that he would never, ever get back. Those irretrievable minutes would become the least of his worries though.


	4. Chapter 03: Vote

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Chapter 03: Vote_

"Hello, Stan. I'm sure you remember me, the ever great Eric Cartman! The reason I'm calling is to remind you that elections are coming up! Though, I'm sure someone as smart as you hasn't forgotten. Just a few days, Stan. A few days, and then I will be President of this great big land of the United States of America! You know what, Stan, you can help me get there. You can help me by outnumbering those who are against me. I'm sure a certain redhead comes to mind for you as it does for me. Come on, Stan. Help me help the U.S. of A! Don't forget to vote, Stan. It could make or break my presidency."

That was the message that a one Stanley Marsh had received about a week in advance of the actual election. The one who'd sent the message his way was obviously his old childhood companion, Eric Cartman. While Cartman had changed in many aspects, in his opinion, it seemed also that there were some things the child in the formerly large man wouldn't let go of. For one his gloating and his pushing people to be on his side at times, like just displayed. But Stan was convinced that Cartman was a good guy now.

Another childhood friend of his though, Kyle, seemed to think otherwise. Maybe it was just because of all the derogatory comments that Cartman had issued him in their youth that left him forever bitter, but he figured Kyle would probably let go eventually. He wasn't too worried about it because he didn't truly care who was elected anyway; he was just voting for Cartman because he knew him and thought maybe he could do some good.

Stan often thought of the one time when he was younger around election time. It was kind of silly, but it was as if subconsciously he feared that if he didn't vote he'd be ostracized all over again. Of course that had been an extreme situation of everyone basically ignoring him until he agreed to vote, even his best friend, but he still never told anyone nowadays that he wasn't into the whole voting thing. He heard many people speak about it daily, but yet he was still wary of making his own indifferent voice heard among them. For every indifferent voice there was, there were ten others saying that it was super important to vote before listing off a billion reasons why.

And that's why he now stood in front of the building where this voting could take place. At the moment, he was waiting just outside the building with a whole set of other people, all in a line to get into the building. Apparently there were many voters going to that specific building at that specific time, so they had to wait. It didn't really bug the raven-haired male, as he had nowhere to go that day anyway.

He didn't have to work that day, considering it was Saturday. What kid went to school on Saturday, right? He was sure that his team wouldn't be standing out in the field and waiting for him to get there.

While many, including himself, had thought that he was going to be a star football player (especially his Uncle Jimbo, considering what had happened when he was eight), he never actually got to being that football player. Not professional anyway. He had played on his high school's football team, for a while in any case. Due to an injury he'd received to his shoulder, he could no longer play all too well and without risk of just hurting it again.

For quite some time, he didn't know what he was going to do, but then the idea of coaching struck him as a good one. And he became a football coach instead of a football star. And he wasn't some coach of some crappy elementary school that didn't even have enough money to purchase helmets for everyone. There was no little "Pip"-type child who had to suffer the blows of football without a helmet. True, the school he coached for wasn't terribly huge, but big enough for him.

Around him he could hear discussion from many other people, all saying in hushed voices who it was that they thought would win, which of course implied their votes. Voting was supposed to be this top secret thing, and yet here were a bunch of people standing there and talking about it. Of course, this wasn't the only conversation topic. Some people were discussing how at least it was good weather so they could stand outside without worry of being poured on and without being cold.

When Stan made his way into the building, the first thing he saw was the swarm of people. Sure, he knew a lot of people lived in his city, but honestly, he hadn't known there were so many in the area. Maybe, after all these years, he was still just used to the tiny population of South Park, where literally everybody knew everybody else.

There were signs sporadically placed all over as to how to use the voting machines, since they were all electronic by that point and apparently newer and more advanced than previous years'. Some people still didn't believe that it was wise to allow serious things like voting to be trusted with technology, but most were okay with it. Those who weren't always claimed that there were probably ways to rig the machines to give a certain amount of votes to certain persons.

There was also the issue of viruses, and that was an issue that was actually seen played out some of the time. On the news, there would randomly be the arresting of some fellow or another who apparently tried to send viruses to the voting machines in order to cause the vote to be delayed or to try and get the virus to allow only a certain person to win or whatever their intentions were. These kinds of things always caused Stan to think that people were crazy and other times it caused him to wonder if Kyle would ever be among those crazies in the computer genius groups trying to destroy technology as people knew it. He doubted it though; Kyle wouldn't stray from his morals to do that.

Though, when he thought again, it _was_ Cartman that was running in the election… and Kyle loathed Cartman to the core, so maybe he'd finally snapped and would go farting around with viruses to try and ruin Cartman's chances. And then again, Cartman himself could be expecting that and be prepared to thwart the attack… Stan just shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts of that nonsense.

Before Stan even really realized what was going on, he found himself in front of the voting machine, and it was waiting for him to punch in the information needed and vote. He stared at the screen, as if it was all in a foreign language. He even glanced up briefly at the wall of the booth around him, noting that on the insides there were also the posters telling people how the machines were used. They were in several different languages too, and Stan realized that it would be wise and helpful to select a language on the actual voting screen, as it was waiting for him to choose.

He touched his finger to the screen over the word English, and somehow, he didn't know how these computers worked, it selected the language he wanted. The next step came up all in English and he scanned over the screen.

With the language he could understand in place, the next step told him that he needed to insert the voter's card that he'd gotten in the mail. At first he couldn't remember where he'd put this voting card, but then he realized he'd stuck it in his wallet. These cards were so small that it could just fit in the wallet, which the little diagram the card had come with even showed.

He reached behind his form and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, where he'd pretty much always kept it. It was quite worn and every time he saw it he figured he'd have to get a new one soon, but never actually ended up getting one. As per usual, his thoughts turned to having to get a new one, though he thought the chances of that were small. He could never figure out why, but even when he was in a store that sold wallets he always forgot. He could be right beside the wallet display and have it still slip his mind. Then by the time he got to the checkout he didn't want to go back.

The voting card was tucked safely away in one of the credit card pockets. When he pulled it out, he stared at the screen for a moment, reading what it had to tell him about what to do next. It was definitely true that these new systems were different than those he'd used previously, but he guessed it couldn't be too complicated. The words on the screen told him to insert the card in the slot on the side of the screen, and there was an arrow pointing to this slot as well.

Stan vaguely felt like he was at a bank machine, but waited all the same for the machine to take its next step in processing the card. Before long, the next step was on the screen, telling him to fill in his name using the keypad. And once the name Stanley Marsh was typed onto the little screen, he tapped its 'okay' button and waited again. The names of those he could vote for were suddenly before him.

Not only were the names on the screen, but there were also pictures to match those names as well. He glanced over the names and pictures, and of the two, only recognized Cartman. Even if they hadn't seen each other in a long time, Cartman didn't look too different than he did at the end of high school. If he had changed, the pictures in newspapers and on the news were enough to remind Stan of what he looked like.

A grin crossed his face and he shook his head slightly. Who would have thought that Cartman would go from being probably the worst kid anyone knew to being who he was? Stan's choice for who he was voting was obvious.

He touched the screen where the name Eric Cartman sat and saw another screen flash before him. It wanted to know if he was sure in his choice, giving option of 'yes' or 'no'. Without second thought, he hit the yes area and waited to see if there was anything else he had to do.

A slight feeling of surprise passed through him as the card came back out of the slot. In fact, he'd almost completely forgotten about it and wondered now what it wanted him to do. Looking back to the screen, he saw that it was telling him that his card was now no longer usable in voting and that it could be discarded. Seconds after he'd pulled the card from the slot the screen returned to the language selection.

When he left the little booth, he noted that some other person came speeding in that direction, as if the whole building was about to crumble before they got a chance to vote. Or maybe they just had to go somewhere; he didn't know and wasn't about to bother to find out. He just cast an amused grin before heading out of the building.

Once stepping outside, he absently stuck the card in his pants' pocket before hurrying to get out of the way of others trying to get in the building. He stepped down onto the sidewalk, standing there in the sunlight for a minute and wondering silently to himself if Kyle was even going to bother to vote. His guess was probably not, but who knew, right?

As he stood there, he ran over in his mind what he could do for the day. He hadn't really planned anything, since he hadn't known how long it was going to take for the voting. Of course he hadn't expected it to take all day, but he didn't want to plan anything with a set time in case he wasn't set out to do it yet. Shrugging to himself, which potentially looked odd to passers-by since he'd been really staring at nothing, he decided he'd just head home and check what was on television. Nothing better to do, right?

xxxxxxx

Several days later, Stan found himself in a local coffee shop. It wasn't a big chain, like Harbucks, but a coffee shop nonetheless. The quality of the coffee was definitely better than what he remembered Tweek's Coffee and he wasn't sure how it compared to Harbucks. Probably because it didn't really matter to him. All that mattered was that it tasted good and the coffee at this particular shop tasted good.

He usually grabbed a morning coffee everyday, even if he had no where to go. Many would say that he was addicted to it, but he disagreed. Or tried to; part of him often thought that they were right. If he didn't get his morning coffee he'd end up being a little on edge, maybe even a bit like the Tweek boy was. Well… not that serious…

After getting his double, double, Stan headed towards a table, grabbing a newspaper off the rack as he went by it. People were supposed to just read the newspapers in the coffee shop, but he'd seen many that took the newspapers with them when they left. The manager of the shop didn't seem to care though, since he didn't exactly have guards standing at the doors and confiscating newspapers as people tried to leave. That would just be ridiculous anyway.

Placing his drink down on the surface of the table, he took a seat and unfolded the newspaper. He wasn't surprised to see what was plastered all over the front page, since the news of it had been released days before. It was strange for him to even think that Eric Cartman was president of the United States. He thought that this Presidency could turn out to be very interesting, however, if Cartman still had any of the old personality that he did as a child. Very interesting indeed.

Stan wasn't worried though. Somehow he felt kind of important, probably because he could go around saying that he grew up with the President and that they'd been… uh… friends… sort of. Regardless, he could say that he at least grew up with Cartman and it would be entirely true whether people believed him or not. He wasn't exactly sure why it made him feel important, but figured that it might be because Cartman was kind of a famous person now. Wasn't that what usually happened when you knew someone famous? You'd feel somehow more important than everyone else?

He took a drink from his coffee, glancing briefly at the now standard warning label on the side that informed people that coffee was hot. He found the label ridiculous, but there were idiots out there. Companies that sold anything hot didn't want their asses sued, so they put the warning labels. Yet, Stan still wouldn't put it past some moron to try and say they didn't know whatever it was they were consuming was hot. Whatever, that was their issue.

The pages crumpled slightly as he turned them, going past the front page news of the new President to some other section. Eventually he would make his way to the sports section, but he wanted to see what else was in the news. Maybe something else interesting was happening and someone else he knew had become famous. He doubted it, though. It was a miracle that even one person from South Park had made it big. He wasn't about to hold his breath and wait for someone else to do the same.


	5. Chapter 04: Place of Employment

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Chapter 4: Place of Employment_

"What do you mean it was terrible?! It was a great movie!"

"Says you," Kyle replied to his colleague in a calm voice.

For a while, Kyle had actually forgotten about that crumby movie. It was so bad that it wasn't even worth remembering. But now that his colleague, who was also a friend, had brought it up, it was in the forefront of his mind again. The older man, Jay was his name, had suddenly brought it up that morning when Kyle had gotten into work. Apparently, he'd forgotten about it, too, but he said he'd spotted it on a pay per view channel the pervious night and was therefore reminded.

"What was so bad about it?" Jay demanded.

Another of their colleagues, Sam, was sitting in the room waiting to hear the answer, too. She'd also given the movie high praise when she saw it.

"Don't get me started…" Kyle groaned. He could only shake his head and then turn to something else to distract him. That something else at that point happened to be a computer tech. magazine, in which he'd spotted what look like a good article.

"You suck, Kyle. You have horrible taste in movies," Sam piped up now flipping to the next page of the fashion magazine she'd been reading.

"You both suck. What the hell is up with reading?"

Jay was one of those people that didn't like reading. In fact, much against his boss' request, he didn't even read instructions. He could figure out things just by looking at them, or, more often than not, through trial and error. It never took him too long to figure out how something worked, so he didn't bother with instructions. He only read if it was absolutely necessary, like with a contract.

So thus why the sandy blonde male scoffed at their reading. Magazines didn't even interest him for pictures or stupid ads. It was even rumoured behind his back that he didn't like 'dirty' magazines either. No one dared ask.

"Maybe if you read, you'll get smarter," Sam joked, glancing up from her magazine to look at him.

"Oh please. Like _you'll_ get any smarter reading _that_!" Jay motioned towards the magazine in her hands.

Kyle chuckled at the truth in this statement. He didn't expect to get any smarter from what he was reading either, but he knew it was better than the garbage Sam constantly read.

"Way to stick up from me, Kyle." Sam glared at the two men with equal ferocity.

"He just sees the truth," Jay said before Kyle could reply. He was completely unfazed by her glare, probably because it definitely wasn't the first time he'd been victim to that expression.

"How 'bout you guys just get back to work, huh?" one of their superiors popped his head in the door of the room.

"Come on, it's lunch break!" Jay complained.

"Lunch is now over. Back to work."

Jay glared irritably with his light green, sometimes mistaken for blue, eyes. No doubt he was envisioning daggers, or perhaps lasers, shooting from them into the retreating back of their superior.

"You heard the man! Time to return to our masters." Kyle stood and placed the magazine under his arm as he collected his garbage and threw it out in the large trash bin near the table.

Followed closely by his once again squabbling friends, he made his way back to his office. While others in the building were working in cubicles, he, along with Jay, had worked their way up to being permitted their own offices. Sam, still quite new to the company, had a ways to go before she would be allowed an office, but she seemed content where she was.

"See you later, Kyle," she bid farewell at the hall leading to her cubicle. She didn't do anything other than flip Jay the bird in farewell.

"Love you, too, babe!" Jay blew her a kiss and waved with a stupid grin on his face.

Kyle only rolled his eyes and kept walking. As the two walked down the hall, they grabbed newspapers off one of the racks. The papers had been late that morning, or else they would have gotten them when they arrived at work. Many avid paper readers had been annoyed, but that didn't make the papers come any faster. Almost all of them were gone by that point, so it was lucky that the two men had gotten their own copies.

It was Kyle's office that came first, and where the two parted. Kyle absently threw the newspaper and the magazine on the low bookshelf beside his computer chair since that was one of the only clear spots. He'd read them later, but for now he had work to take care of before he took more leisure time. It seemed that someone had draped yet another paper he had to look at across the top of his monitor while he was out, too. This sheet of paper joined the newspaper and the magazine on the shelf, and he stuck the sheet under the paper so that it wouldn't blow away. His window was slightly open, and he didn't want a draft to up and lift it away on him. It could be important, but he'd read it later.

He flicked his monitor back on as he sat down and ran his hand meaninglessly through his hair. There was no logical reason for him to do this, but he discovered in doing it that a haircut was in need. If he let his hair get much longer, he'd get close to it being how it was when he was younger. It didn't get quite as wild anymore, but too close for his liking. At times, he'd even donned at hat to cover his curled mass of red hair, but if he kept it short enough, there was no problem.

In any case, he took the cordless mouse in his hand and reopened what he'd been working on. He was almost done with it, having cracked the code and gotten passed anything else that was preventing him from completing his task. Now all he had to do was find the virus and destroy it. He'd been told to purposely infect the computer with a virus to test out a new anti-virus program. As far as he was concerned, it hadn't worked. He didn't count the program having alerted him of the virus as having worked, considering it didn't block it or do anything more about it. Oh well, at least he knew how to get rid of the virus.

Of course this wasn't the only thing that he did for the company. Hell, if that was the only thing he'd still be back in a little cubical somewhere out there and be one of those people that the boss got the name of wrong all the time. Oh yeah, that had happened. He'd gone from being Kyle, to Cory, to Casey, to Kirk, to Kevin and even Kenny. There were many more, but those were the ones he remembered. Once he'd even been called Richard. Where the hell _that_ came from was still a mystery.

Apart from testing out anti-virus programs and other programs like that, he helped design and make them. And he was usually one of the few people that they called when there were major computer errors. Essentially, he was an all around computer guy.

He'd gotten to where he was in the company because of this, and because he worked so damned hard. It wasn't unknown that the man didn't have much of a social life, though he said he did. Sure, he'd go out every once in a while, yet not nearly as much as everyone else. And even _those_ people weren't considered huge socialites.

Then there was the matter of everyone constantly saying he'd never get a girlfriend if he just worked so hard all the time. 'Everyone' included his mother, who was consistent with her nagging that she wanted grandchildren.

_"You're thirty-one, Kyle! You should look at settling down before it's too late!"_

It seemed that his mother thought anywhere near thirty-five was 'too late'. But that was his mother and he'd long since grown used to her being like that. He remembered as a child how it had bothered him, but now he'd just brush it off and assure her that he'd get a family going before it was 'too late'. Now he just had to make the time to do it.

But he didn't feel like making the time. If it happened that he found someone he liked, then it happened. No need to rush all into it like his mother seemed to want him to do. His father, of course, supported his mother, but Kyle guessed that his father probably felt at least slightly the same when it came to that.

Kyle was brought out of his reverie suddenly when he heard a knock on his door. He pushed his chair back from his desk and looked to see who was there since they took the liberty of opening the door themselves. The redhead was surprised to see his boss standing there and wondered what was up.

"Broflovski, didn't you get the memo?" the man asked.

He was a stout man, though not nearly as much as they'd all expected Cartman to turn out to be. In his late forties, the man already had almost a full head of grey hair, though it was said that he'd started greying when he hit twenty. The man had a kind air about him, but it wasn't wise to get on his bad side since he had a temper. Most of the time he was able to keep it in check. Most of the time.

"Memo?" Kyle asked absently, then it occurred to him what his boss was talking about. "Oh!" it clicked in and he pulled the paper that had been draped across the top of the monitor out from under the newspaper.

"That's the one," his boss nodded as he spotted the sheet. "Come on, the meeting's going to start in a few minutes."

"Meeting?" the redhead continued with his puzzled questioning, even though he knew he shouldn't have the moment the question left his mouth. He saw his superior's jaw tighten.

"Didn't you even read it?" the man asked, but then shook his head. "Never mind. Just bring a pen and paper and get your ass to the meeting room."

"Yes, sir!" Kyle called after the man as he left, cringing slightly and taking a second to glance at the sheet. It didn't, however, say what the meeting was about, only that it was mandatory, so he quickly set the sheet back down on his desk and scrambled to get his things.

Kyle pulled from out of the shoulder bag he always carried his things to work in a small, folder-like clipboard. He opened it to make sure it had a notepad in it, and seeing that it did, he grabbed a pen from off his desk and shoved it in the pen slot on the inside spine of the folder-clipboard hybrid. Taking time to quickly turn the monitor off on his computer, he got up from the chair and walked out of the room.

Briskly, he fell into step with some of the others who were on their way to the meeting room. The lot of them were rushing a bit, so he wondered if any of them had read the sheet of paper.

"What do you think it's about?" a man around Kyle's age asked those around him.

"I haven't a clue. The fact that it's mandatory could mean it's something big though," another man shrugged beside him.

"That and the boss came personally to make sure we were all on our way instead of just letting us be late or miss it and then yelling at us later," one of the women making her way to the room said.

"She's right," the first man agreed and the others began to mutter their agreement as well.

"What do you think, Broflovski?" the second man addressed him now, since Kyle hadn't given any input on this so far.

"I really have no idea. All I know is that I didn't read the memo," Kyle said with a slight grin. The others broke out into laughter, though it quickly died.

When they entered into the room, they all quickly took the empty seats that were available. Jay looked to Kyle apologetically, as if he had been saving his friend a seat, but it had been taken. Kyle just shrugged and set his things down on the top of the dark, wood-topped table, the man who'd asked him what he thought taking a seat beside him.

Kyle looked around the room, seeing that all the seats were full now. All those who were deemed 'important' were present, most talking amongst themselves quietly as they waited for the meeting to begin. As he looked around, Kyle could see that his boss wasn't even in the room at the moment. He wondered where the man had gotten to considering it had sounded kind of urgent when he ordered Kyle to get to the room he was currently sitting in.

It was a nice room, too. Big enough for many people to sit around the table and there was enough room at the front for a projector to be placed. A screen for the projected images would be pulled down from the ceiling. There were a few large windows in the room on the wall in front of where Kyle was sitting; he would have to turn to his right if the projector was being used, which he suspected it might. The large blinds had been pulled across to block out the sun.

Not long after they'd all gotten settled in, his boss came bustling into the room. The man headed to the front of the room, pushing along a cart with a laptop and a projector sitting on top of it. He got to quickly hooking it up, though he left the laptop closed and the projector off. Maybe it was only in case they needed it.

As the stout man stood back up, the room fell silent, waiting for his word of what the meeting was about.

"Today," he began, his deep voice almost booming around them, as if he really wanted their attention, "we have a special guest. He's here to – no, I'll let him tell you what he's here for."

The room suddenly seemed deathly still around Kyle, and he had little clue as to why. Some of those across from him, he saw, had taken to letting their mouths hang agape. While he was curious to know why, he had this feeling that he shouldn't turn around to look.

He heard a few pairs of footsteps crossing the floor behind him and he repressed the urge to shiver. His attention turned to Jay, who was waving an arm ever so slightly to catch it. When he looked to Jay, he saw him mouthing the words that looked like, 'Oh my god! It's-' But the guest spoke and Kyle's attention was diverted.

"Hello, everyone," the male voice said.

He knew that voice. All too well.

* * *

Author's Note: Forgive how horribly long it's been since the last update. You've no idea how much I struggled with this chapter. I'm hoping this is all right; please don't shoot me. 


	6. Chapter 05: What He Wants

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Chapter 05: What He Wants_

Kyle's jaw dropped and his grey-hazel eyes widened considerably as his they flew from Jay to the man that stood at the head of the table. Dressed in a simple, black, or maybe dark navy, suit; auburn hair combed neatly away from the man's face; confident stance. Two other men, dressed in black stood just off to the side of the man, leaning against the wall, but watching those present as well as the door closely. They were the man's bodyguards. This wasn't just any guest they had to speak to them, this was –

'Cartman,' Kyle thought incredulously in his head and resisted saying it aloud. He wasn't about to draw any attention to himself, but with that thought he realized his gaping.

Promptly shutting his mouth, he forced his expression to go blank and he glanced at the others. All were completely silent, some awed, others just wanting to know what this was all about. Jay was throwing Kyle a look that asked if all this was real. Kyle managed to shrug and nod at the same time, which seemed to confuse his friend even more.

"As I'm sure you all know," the voice trained in rhetoric spoke again, recapturing their attention, "I'm Eric Cartman, President of the United States. I've come here to speak with you all about something very important."

Cartman looked around the room at those who sat at the table. His eyes gave each of them a certain amount of attention and all the while he grinned. The man didn't seem to give Kyle any more mind than the others, so Kyle wondered if he even recognized him.

'No… he knew how to get my phone number, I'm sure he knew how to find where I worked…' Kyle thought darkly to himself. A large part of him had reverted to childhood days and he wondered just what Cartman was scheming now and if the scheme was against him. Another part of him was crying for attention and just saying that this was only work related. Only a coincidence that Cartman chose this particular company to discuss something very important with.

"Taking into consideration just how convenient and easy computer use is in today's world, I plan to use one very frequently during my time as President. For this, I need a better computer than is offered to the general public these days. I need something that can handle the information, as well as prevent others from getting to it," Cartman explained briefly.

The entire room watched as he began to pace a bit and Kyle noticed hints of youth habits in this. When Cartman was pensive he would pace back and forth, sometimes with a hand to his chin and other times without. Sure it was a common action among people, but Cartman seemed to have his own way of doing it.

"I'm not going to lie to you folks," Cartman said, stopping again and placing his hands on the table. He leaned slightly on his knuckles and looked at them all very seriously. "I've not chosen this company specifically. I'm going around to each company and the best product will be chosen from them. I will award the company whose product is chosen extra funds after it is complete."

The men and women in the room considered this quietly, whispering their thoughts to those beside them and even just thinking aloud. Kyle tapped the pen he'd brought with him absently against the notepad. This commission seemed innocent enough and for the time being Kyle was going over in his mind the things that could be done to provide an adequately strengthened computer system for what he wanted.

"I'm asking this to be done so that the people of this country may be protected from terrorists and any other threat that may come our way. From personal information of the people to battle strategies – I want it all kept under wraps, not free for someone to just google," Cartman further explained and looked as if he were preparing to use the overhead that had been brought into the room as he was hooking it up to his computer. The man's attention was drawn away from it momentarily when he saw a hand raise slightly into the air. "Yes?"

"As good as your intentions are concerning this whole thing, I'm curious to know how we are supposed to find means to construct this for you. If there is no guarantee that our company's will be chosen, why even bother to do it?" a man who was sitting farther down the table towards the back asked.

"Johnson!" Kyle heard their boss' voice snap.

"No, it's quite all right," Cartman said with a hand raised to stop the other's protest. There was a slight grin on his face as he straightened from what he'd been doing. "It's a valid question and one that I was going to go over later, but I'll address it now. I know that money just doesn't come out of thin air for these kinds of projects and I intend to give financial support for it. I'm not about to just hand out any random amount of money, though. I am giving each of the companies an equal amount that I will determine after I hear all opinions on how much this may cost."

Kyle had been wondering the same thing himself, but hadn't been about to ask it. The answer sufficed for him though and he found it reasonable.

'Maybe he has changed,' Kyle thought to himself as he readied to make notes when Cartman went back to hooking up the computer to the projector. 'Maybe all the work he's had to go through to get to where he is has finally taught him something…'

Even as he thought this, there was a slight nagging at the rear of his mind, but he dismissed it. For now, there seemed to be nothing to worry about. Perhaps he was dwelling too much on the past.

"Broflovski."

Kyle's head rose from the pad of paper when he heard the boss say his name. "Sir?"

"Get the lights."

The redhead obeyed without question, pushing the chair away from the desk and standing to flick the light switch, which was almost directly behind him. Mechanically, he flipped the appropriate switch off, which turned off all the fluorescent lights that hung above them. He could have also flipped off each light by their individual switches, but it was easier to use the one he had when all of them were needed to go off.

As he turned to sit back down, he felt a pair of eyes on him and he wasn't surprised to find Cartman looking his way. He wondered then if Cartman really hadn't recognized him, considering the almost surprised expression that was on the other man's face. Kyle simply sat down again and picked up his pen and readied to write, noting that Cartman was now opening a specific file on his computer.

A moment later, a power-point presentation opened itself up onto the display screen, which had just been pulled down. When Kyle had seen Cartman opening the specific file, the image had been on the wall, but one of the man's bodyguards had taken it upon himself to pull down the greyish screen that would show projector images well.

"The following are the specifics that I will be looking for," Cartman introduced what he was doing and then set out to do it.

The meeting continued and the men and women of the company sat through the presentation and Cartman explaining whilst taking notes on their notepads. Some were typing away at laptops even, the slight clicks just audible behind Cartman's voice. A few asked questions occasionally, but mostly it was just Cartman speaking for the rest of the meeting.

Perhaps an hour and a half had passed, perhaps more, or maybe less. Kyle wasn't sure; he'd left his watch lying around somewhere. The redhead wasn't sure whether he'd even worn it to work at all or if he'd just left it on his desk back in his office. Either way, a good amount of time had passed between the point of the beginning of the meeting and when he turned the lights back on as the projector was turned off.

"Are there any more questions?" Cartman asked as he closed the lid of his laptop. Looking around, he saw that some were thinking if they had anything more to ask or say while others were shaking their heads and voicing their sureness of understanding. In the end no one else had anything to say and Cartman watched as the head of the company stood from his seat.

"We thank you, President Cartman, first for considering our company with this project and for coming in to speak with us." The man stood, but otherwise didn't move from his seat's place and gave a smile.

"Of course, Mr. Dickson," Cartman addressed the man, nodding his head slightly in recognition. "I just wish to do what is best for the people and I believe this company may be able to help in this. I will be contacting you with information concerning money and anything else that might come to mind." Cartman offered a smile now as well, picking up the case he'd placed his laptop in. His bodyguards were ready to move again, no longer leaning against the wall.

"Again, thank you," Mr. Dickson reiterated and clapped, soon joined by the others. When it died away, Mr. Dickson spoke again. "All of you can go back to work now. I will send notice when we need to get started."

Everyone began to stand, putting their laptops and notebooks away, pushing their chairs in and heading out of the room. Kyle slid the pen back in the slot of the clipboard-binder as he stood up. Shortly after that, he was on his way back to his office with the rest of the hoard. Jay had pushed his way through the crowd and joined Kyle.

"Can you believe it? The president wants this company to create a program? We could save the world, Kyle!" Jay said, seemingly really excited about it. A laptop bag hung from his shoulder, though there was also a small notepad in his hands and a pen behind one ear.

Kyle looked to the sandy blonde briefly before looking back in front of him, so as not to run into anyone. He shook his head slightly, "_If_ our product gets picked. You heard Cartman. He was completely honest with telling us what he was doing and what he expected." It then dawned on Kyle and he thought in silence, 'That must be a first.'

"Yeah, but I think we have a good chance. I mean, come on! This company isn't just some little piece of shit that you find smushed between a bunch of other shit stores in a little town. This isn't just some shit little refurbishing company or one that only thinks it knows what it's doing," Jay pointed out. "I just think we stand a better chance than other companies he'll probably go to."

"I wonder who else he _is_ going to," Kyle suddenly thought and wondered why no one had asked.

"Maybe he doesn't want anyone to know so there won't be any sabotaging or any competition like that," Jay shrugged.

"I'm sure that's probably the reason," a man walking beside them put in suddenly. "The president probably doesn't want there to be any foul ups with making the programs just because of petty rivalries."

"That would make sense," Kyle mused. "Whatever. We're going to have to work our asses off for this though."

Jay chuckled, "Maybe quite literally. No eating, no sleeping. Only work."

"Gee, sounds like so much fun," Kyle sighed slightly. Maybe it wouldn't be any different from normal though, considering how much he worked anyway. He wagered that the boss would pass their normal projects on to someone else as this was being done so that their focus could solely be on creating it for the president. He suspected that there wouldn't be an extra work load.

"I'm actually excited. Maybe we'll make names for ourselves," Jay continued.

As the group passed other offices, people poked their heads out and inquired about what was going on, but no one was going to say anything. It was all to be strictly confidential, even the fact that the president was there. But like that would stay a secret. He had to walk down the halls to get out of the building, after all. Other than that, however, none of the others knew a thing.

"Back to the boring stuff," Jay said as he and his friend parted ways. Kyle only nodded and entered into his office.

Placing the clipboard-binder down on the desk, he sat in his chair, stretching for a moment as he did so. All that sitting left him needing a stretch, which wasn't uncommon when he was working. In fact, as he thought about it, he decided to head over to get some coffee from the break room and then return to work.

Despite having just entered into his office, he stood and left the room again, closing the door behind him. He walked briskly to the break room so that Mr. Dickson wouldn't complain if he saw him. He'd just say he was going there quickly and then returning to his office; the only thing Mr. Dickson would do would be usher him on. The man surely wouldn't complain any more than that since Kyle had just been in the meeting all that time.

Upon arrival at the break room, he saw that a few others who'd been at the meeting had had the same idea. Others were just in there for an actual break period and were asking questions, but for the most part the meeting goers teasingly ignored them. Saying things like, "Do you hear something?" when asked a question.

Kyle went in and out without much conversation. He told those who asked what was going on that he suddenly had amnesia and didn't remember, to which some chuckled and others just shook their heads. He shrugged and left the room, drinking a bit of the hot beverage out of the thick, cardboard cup as he did. He didn't drink too much of it though for threat of burning his tongue. And that was a feeling he hated.

The man slowed and cocked an eyebrow as he approached the door to his office. It now stood slightly opened and he could hear a page suddenly rustle from within. He didn't think much of it, other than someone maybe leaving another memo for him to read or something else to do. As he took another sip of the beverage, he pushed open the door. The sip came to an abrupt halt, however, when he saw who was sitting in his chair.

"Cartman?" Kyle questioned, ensuring that he wasn't just seeing things.

The man looked up from the papers he'd been going through from on Kyle's desk and grinned slightly at the other's shocked expression. He set the clipboard-binder back on the desk and leaned back in the chair. Kyle watched as he did this, looking around for the man's bodyguards (without finding them) and he saw that the only things that were disturbed were the notes he'd made at the meeting.

"You take very good notes, Kyle. Though some of your shorthand I don't quite understand," Cartman said with a grin. "So, who did you vote for, Kyle?"

"What's it matter?" Kyle sighed slightly, his thoughts that maybe Cartman had changed forgotten again as he recalled the phone message. "Nice message you left me, by the way."

"I thought you might like it." Cartman said in a voice that implicated that it had only been a joke. Kyle wasn't sure whether to believe this tone or not. Cartman looked around the office half-interestedly. "So, you work here, huh?"

"No, I only come here to hang out on Tuesdays," Kyle snorted. "I'd have thought you'd know where I work, considering you found my number easily enough." He simply stood there, arms crossed slightly as he continued to hold the coffee in one hand. That hand was growing increasingly warm, despite the wrap that was around the cup to lessen the heat on the hands that were to hold it.

"Why would I want to know where you work?" Cartman cocked a brow now. "Perhaps a little paranoid, Kyle?"

"Never know with you," Kyle replied smoothly.

"You should've listened to Stan and Kenny more. Then you wouldn't be paranoid. I have changed, Kyle," Cartman insisted, standing from the chair.

"I'll believe it when I see it. Right now, all I have are your words. Even if I do see it, you could be just deceiving us. I haven't forgotten your ploys from when we were kids," Kyle told him, stepping aside so that Cartman could get to the door.

"Maybe you should get some help, Kyle. You're so paranoid," Cartman said as he approached. When he stood beside Kyle, he laid a hand on his shoulder. "That, or you need to let go of the past."

Standing side by side as they were, Kyle was slightly taller than Cartman, though Cartman was bigger boned. He had a slightly larger structure, but nothing like the one his apparent 'bigger bones' had given him during childhood. Kyle watched Cartman out of his peripheral vision, scrutinizing.

"Work hard, Kyle. It'll help save lives," Cartman said before patting his shoulder slightly and leaving the room.

Kyle turned to watch as the man was joined by his bodyguards and as the trio left. Shaking his head slightly, he closed his door and turned back to his desk where he flipped his notes back over and then closed the clipboard-binder. He sat down in his chair set the coffee on his desk now, resting his head in his warm hand as his elbow braced it on the chair's arm.

'Am I really paranoid?' Kyle questioned silently. 'Hearing what he said in the meeting it seems like he's actually a sane, decent person now. Even just now it seemed that he wasn't all that bad… But considering the message he left…' He sighed heavily, thoroughly confused by the ordeal. And even then, he wondered if that was Cartman's intention all along. Then he thought again about how perhaps he was paranoid.

He shook his head defiantly, picking up the coffee and taking a longer drink. It had cooled down enough that he didn't scorch his tongue, but it was still warm. Setting it down, he opted to worry about that later and just get back to work for now. It wasn't going to do itself, after all and it would do well to distract him.


	7. Chapter 06: Progress, Sort Of

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Chapter 06: Progress, Sort Of_

Cartman sat at his oak desk, going through the stack of papers that had been placed there earlier in the day. He found the one bunch in particular he was looking for and pulled them out, removing the paperclip that attached them and setting it aside for now.

Though it had only been a few weeks since he first visited all the companies and then since he'd given them the budget, he already had some reports coming his way concerning the task he'd given them. He had asked them not to e-mail these reports since he didn't want them to get into the wrong hands through hacking or typo in the e-mail address. Instead, he'd told them that each time they had something to report, to call the number he'd given them and someone would be sent to collect these reports. Cartman knew that this was risky, too, but was also had confidence in the woman he'd chosen for the job and he wasn't afraid to retaliate should she betray him.

He leaned back in his chair slightly, which was towards the light of the large window to see better. The first one reported some progress. The company had gotten started and was working on the system busily. A few others reported the same sort of progress. Another reported that it had teamed up with another company to get the best results by using the strength of them both. Cartman thought this an interesting decision. He hadn't forbade it, but he hadn't thought that any would try that either. He'd thought that they would all be fighting for the glory of their own company.

The head of the company called Hart Corp. (apparently named after the guy who created it) was the one to send the letter saying that they'd joined forces with the company Defrag Inc. Both were strong competitors, so he thought it would be interesting to see what they came up with.

He found it odd that they hadn't asked first, but since he hadn't forbade it, he didn't much care. All he wanted was a system that no one could get into except him and since he wasn't all too good with computers besides using them, he needed to trust that others could build it for him and then he had to trust that they wouldn't build some backdoor that they could get into to bring him down. He didn't suspect that any of them would, not even Kyle Broflovski.

He smiled, knowing that even if Kyle didn't trust him he wouldn't leave any room for error in anything he was involved in. His pride wouldn't allow it. He'd want to prove that himself and therefore would make sure it was impenetrable, whether his company's system was the one that was chosen or not. Indeed, Cartman expected a superb product to come from that company.

Once done with these progress reports, he paper clipped them again and then opened the bag that he used more or less as a briefcase (he didn't much care for actual briefcases) to set the pages inside. His attention then turned to the other papers and he began to read over them.

xxxxxxx

Kenny had always strived to become more than his parents had ever amounted to. He refused to continue living in poverty with a broken family and he didn't want to be the object of pity when sited or talked about. Kenny wanted to make a name for himself. Or at least try. Even if he only tried, then people could admire him for that.

Breaking this cycle, however, would be very hard to do. He knew well that, most of the time, the rich would get richer and the poor would remain poor, if not fall into poverty even further. That was how capitalism worked and he knew that he'd have to work that much harder in order to gain anything in life.

When he was deemed 'old enough', he started working right away. At first it was just any job where the employer would hire a young teenager. Paper routes, stocking shelves at stores, that kind of thing. At one point, he even worked at the morgue as a janitor. Once he had a long list of jobs, his résumé of course looked better and better jobs were coming his way. Still, not jobs that would have him rolling in cash.

Unfortunately, with all this working, his grades suffered. While he saw education as an important aspect to achievement in life, and it was something that the guidance councillor shoved down his throat at every chance he got, Kenny saw no way that he would be able to get that education without money. Some would tell him he could shoot for scholarships, but he also faced the reality that he could never be so smart as to beat out people like Kyle, Cartman and Wendy academically. He wasn't about to get loans that would keep him in debt forever, either. That just didn't sit well with him. No, he had to save whatever money he could and kept the thread of hope that somehow it would multiply enough to get him through.

As one would expect, this aspect of money caused a complete uproar in his home. Even with what little he made, his parents demanded that he help support the family, but wasn't having it. They didn't help him, so why should he do them the favour? After a great deal of long verbal battles with his father and mother, but mostly his father, the drunk finally kicked his son out of the house. Kenny would forever recall telling them to get off their lazy asses and make something of themselves.

At first, the blond sought the help of his friends, though he'd also sacrificed a bit of that link with working as well. Luckily, Kyle was able to board him for a while since they had plenty of space and his mother wouldn't have Kenny on the streets. Mrs. Broflovski of course was all gung-ho about Kenny's ambition and supported him. Mr. Broflovski seemed doubtful that a McCormick could make anything of himself, but was supportive nonetheless.

It was only for about a week until Kenny could find a place of his own with the money he'd saved up so far. It wasn't much, but he didn't want to mooch off of his friends. So, with that big chunk of money leaving his pocket, he moved into a shabby apartment, still on the poor side of town, but he was out of his house with his family. This was at age sixteen.

Now with his own place to take care of and for which he had to pay rent, the work load came at an even bigger rate. He got as many jobs as he could manage, at one point up to three, but usually sticking with two. He was always gunning for that one well paying job, but didn't get his hopes up too high. Considering his social status and the fact that it was South Park, no such job came his way during his youth.

Many worried that he would work himself sick, including those he'd been closest with during elementary school. When they could, since they rarely saw him, Stan, Kyle and even Cartman would ask if he was all right and if he needed any help, but Kenny always refused. He didn't want to have to depend on others. Even when he'd fallen greatly ill, he insisted on going into work and letting no one take care of him. Everything just had to be done himself the way he saw it.

At the end of elementary school and into high school, Kenny became more reclusive. At first it was because of issues with his parents and he was beginning to become troubled and depressed. As a child, he'd always kept the hood of his parka up and though he'd gotten rid of the parka, he still wore hooded sweat shirts or coats all the time. The teachers had a tough time getting him to keep it off, always yelling down the halls for him to do so, but he generally ignored them.

Later he became reclusive because of his need to work. It simply kept him from things and people.

He didn't become a rebel, and he didn't exactly become the emo or goth kid, nor was he truly a loner. What he was seen as was anti-social. With working so much, he saw Stan, Kyle and Cartman less and less, but was very aware of their struggles. Especially the major clash that seemed to be going on between Kyle and Cartman, since everyone and their uncle knew about that.

While he saw that Cartman had changed, he still held a grudge against him for all the wise-cracks that the ass had made about him during their childhood. He was quite certain Cartman resented him back, considering all Kenny had said about the other boy's mother and everything, but he didn't think there was any reason to peg him as the maniac that Kenny had been certain he'd turn out to be. There was rather an odd friendship between them, but a friendship nonetheless.

He saw them all when he could, not outright ignoring them, but he didn't have the time going from school to work to sleep (sometimes early in the morning) and then to school the next day. Sometimes they would all get a chance to hang out on his days off, though he rarely allowed himself to have one of those. But, like anyone else, he just needed to unwind at times.

At the end of high school, Kenny saw his friends succeed and graduate with high marks and scholarships and he was happy for them. Personally, he'd only passed with mediocre grades, but at that point he hadn't expected anything else. He hadn't even applied for college, even though many told him to do so. That in itself became a small battle between him and others, but he knew they were just concerned.

Instead of college, he knew all he could do was try to live his life the best he could. Maybe one day he could go to college, though he doubted it.

His living conditions had improved only slightly from his childhood. He was still considered poor and he struggled immensely to make ends meet, but he didn't have to put up with his family. All was his, though he rented the apartment he lived in. He cut down on expenses by using the Laundromat and he didn't have a car. He either walked, rode the shabby bicycle he owned or took the bus when he had some reason to go out of town. Other times he would hitch a ride with those he worked with.

The man was content enough, knowing that many others he'd known through high school and even since childhood had gone to worse and were in the poor situation that his parents were. Drug addicts, alcoholics, whores, prostitutes, pimps, robbers; he knew people who had become these and worse. He hadn't turned to any of that, but guessed that had he not strived to succeed and had he still been living in his parents' house that he would have. That, or he'd have been dead in a ditch by fifteen.

At present, he was on his way to work, as a lower ranked carpenter. South Park was finally building a better community center, though his job was not placed specifically in South Park. It was just coincidence that they were in his home town. The business itself was from the next town over and it was lucky he'd found the job at all.

Kenny could remember the day he'd seen the ad in the newspaper. He was on break at his then place of employment and found that the paper had been left lying around; probably because even the people of South Park were becoming more interested in politics. His interest wasn't in the increasing stability of the economy or any political things, but rather the want ads.

The blond could often be found looking them over and as soon as he saw the ad for the construction job, which promised to pay more than his current job, he made a grab for it. He knew it was a long shot since he had no experience, but he wasn't about to pass it up.

Tearing out of the break room, he had run to the nearest phone with the article in hand to call them right away. He set up an interview, gathered up his résumé afterwards and then caught a bus to the next town the next day as it was conveniently his day off. Sitting in the best clothes he had (a pair of fairly dressy pants and a button-up shirt) he had handed over the résumé and sat waiting for hat he knew the man would say.

"None of your previous jobs are in construction, Mr. McCormick," the largely built, though not fat, man commented, glancing at Kenny with his dark eyes.

"No, sir," Kenny agreed and he wasn't about to try and lie how he'd helped an uncle build a house one summer or something stupid like that. That would get him nowhere.

"But you do have good references and a lot of work experience," the man continued in an even tone. "Working since you were thirteen?" He raised a brow, looking the younger man over, slightly surprised to see he was so calm.

"That's right, sir," Kenny confirmed with a nod, wondering absently if he should have made his hair super neat, too. Oh well, he didn't have gel anyway.

The man set Kenny's résumé on the desk and simply looked at the other male. "So, what makes you want this job?"

"It pays better than my current one," Kenny said without cracking a grin, intending to show that he was completely serious in his answer. Again, he saw no point in lying.

"Is that so," the man managed after quickly removing the surprised look from his face. "This isn't just some job that you can come running to just because you need money. You're expected to work, especially people like you who have never done a job like this before."

The man was testing him. Kenny resisted a smile.

"I know that, sir," Kenny continued. "I've been working hard since I was thirteen and I won't be able to stop anytime soon." This last part wasn't particularly a happy thought for Kenny, but he couldn't omit it if he really wanted this job.

That had been several years back at this point and somehow he'd landed the job. If he recalled correctly, the man, Tyler Brown, had said he was going to give him a shot, but that if he fucked up (and he had used that phrasing) then Kenny would be out of there before he knew what hit him.

Now he walked to the construction site, pulling his coat closer around him to fight off the cold. The blond saw another pair of men already standing around and waiting until more people got there so they could do work, both of whom he knew and worked with. Upon landing the job, he'd discovered a few others he knew already working there, but most had now moved onto bigger jobs. Now it was just him, Clyde and Craig.

Over the years working together, he'd grown closer to these guys again. He and Clyde could get going making all the sexual jokes in the world. Kenny and Craig, however, often struggled for power between the two of them. Craig had become borderline control freak and Kenny, so used to doing things for himself and therefore being in charge was prone to challenging the other man. Overall, somehow, the three got along well, though.

The two had been working there longer than him and were high ups, but Kenny wasn't that far behind. He'd proved himself and escalated quickly in the job, much to the surprise of many of them. Tyler Brown, however, was pleased, realizing that he'd made a good choice all those years ago.

"Kenny," Craig called out in greeting when Kenny was a few feet away. None of them had abandoned the childhood nickname for the blond. It seemed too weird to call him Ken and since he didn't protest they guessed it was all right to continue with Kenny.

"Hey guys," Kenny greeted, standing beside them with his shoulders hunched up so that the collar of his coat went up to his chin. He had on a hat and a scarf, but the chill was bitter. They leaned against the side of the portable, out of the wind, yet still felt its bite.

"Looks like a storm's coming in," Clyde commented, his unshaven face turning towards the sky. He didn't have anywhere near a beard, but it was easy to see that he hadn't taken the time to shave that morning. "Maybe we'll get a few days off."

"Better than freezing our nuts off out here," Craig complained.

Eventually, others began to show up and once they all got to work they warmed up a bit. Not much, but the work also distracted them from feeling the cold. Some might have suggested that they wear heavier jackets, but of course that would make it harder to manoeuvre about and get the work done, mostly because heavier jackets tended to be bulkier, too.

It had started to snow a bit when they first started work for the day, but it wasn't until the wind really picked up and the snow fell heavier that the boss called it a day. Considering they could barely see what they were doing and the work was becoming hard to do, there was no point in trying to continue.

"Let the mayor bitch about it then," Craig was saying as he gave Kenny a ride home since the blond had walked. "I'd like to see her out there working in this weather."

"I'm not saying we should have to keep working in the storm," Kenny said, looking out the window absently as they made their slow progress across town. His breath hung in the air even in the car; according to Craig the heater was broken. "I'm just saying she's going to bitch about it."

"Yeah, well, she's always had a bug up her ass," Craig sighed.

Of course, this wasn't the same mayor that had been in charge of South Park when they were children, but the woman who'd come to be mayor nowadays was just as bad, some would say. Perhaps even worse, but the people of the town seemed willing to put up with Martha Hyndman.

After going over the tracks that had always separated the two sides of the town, Craig turned down one of the side streets and pulled up to the small apartment building. Calling it a quality establishment would be downright lying. Some of the windows were boarded up and it had that look to it that it wasn't well taken care of. It was, all the same, what Kenny called home.

"Thanks, man," Kenny said, stepping out of the car. "See yah tomorrow, if the storm dies down."

"Want a ride?" Craig offered, leaning over slightly so he could see Kenny.

"Nah. I'm all right." Kenny smiled, shut the door and waved before rushing towards the building as Craig pulled away.

Inside, Kenny walked down the dimly lit halls and up the stairs (the elevator was always broken) towards his apartment. His wet boots squeaked on the tiled floors and echoed around him like he was in a chamber. The walls of the hallway were painted an off white, supposedly to allow the brightness to come in from the windows, but it still looked really dark and dank a lot of the time.

Once he'd pulled his key out of his pocket, he opened the door and stepped inside the apartment before locking the door again with the many locks he'd put on the door. A chain lock, a turn lock and of course the lock on the doorknob itself. He didn't trust these people at all and while some might call him over-cautious, he sometimes felt he wasn't being cautious enough. Of course, not everyone in the building was a crook, but there were definitely some.

He tossed his coat aside on the chair in the entryway and hung his keys on the little hook on the kitchen cabinet as he passed the kitchen area. In reality, he only had three keys; two for the apartment (one the turn lock and the other the doorknob lock) and one for his mail box downstairs. He felt the chill of the area and opted to turn up the heat a bit.

The man entered into the small living area where there sat one recliner that looked like it'd seen better days, a small table and also a small television. He walked over to the balcony window though, pulling back the curtains to let the light in and to look outside. All he saw was the white of the snow storm.


	8. Chapter 07: Home for the Holidays

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Chapter 07: Home for the Holidays_

Stan stood staring at the Christmas tree that had been erected in front of the mayor's office. He chuckled, remembering when Christmas caused such a controversy in South Park because Mrs. Broflovski had a fit about Kyle being in the nativity story during a play at school. For years afterwards, Christmas trees weren't put up in public around South Park, but he guessed the newest mayor had convinced the people it wouldn't hurt anyone to have the tree there. How, he wasn't sure, but somehow. Maybe because instead of a banner with 'Merry Christmas' strewn behind it, the banner said 'Happy Holidays'.

He hadn't been back to South Park for Christmas in many long years. Other times, his parents and sister had come to visit him where he lived for the holidays, so he'd really had no reason to go back. This year, however, he'd decided that he wanted to go home and see what had changed. Was South Park hanging pictures of Cartman everywhere since he'd won the election, he'd wondered? Well, it appeared not. Still, he could only guess the Christmas tree was probably minor compared to other changes he might face.

There was a thick layer of snow on the ground, so Stan could only guess that there had been a snow storm recently, but of course that wasn't unusual. There were storms in South Park all the time. The year there wasn't a storm would be unusual. Global Warming would probably be blamed and everyone would be up in arms. Hell, Mrs. Broflovski might even send a letter to the president.

The snow was flecked on the tree's branches and on the few decorations that had been permitted, lest it be a fire hazard. It looked like some portrait, as if the snow had been carefully placed. For all he knew, with the craziness of his town, it had been.

"Nice, isn't it?"

Stan turned to face the voice, slightly startled, but this feeling washed away and became a grin when he saw who was standing there. There was no way he could mistake the hood-clad man for anyone else.

"I guess," he shrugged, turning back to the tree. "Looks like a tree with cords on it to me."

Because it was still daylight, they weren't about to turn on the lights, so it did really just look like a pine tree with cords and bulbs draped all over it.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Kenny laughed. "Home for the holidays?" he asked the obvious.

"Yeah. Figured I'd visit the family this year, instead of them visiting me," Stan nodded as his breath floating in the cold air. It'd been a long time since he saw that.

He was also happy that even though it had been at the very least a good year and a half (he wondered if it might be longer) since he'd seen and had direction conversation with Kenny that they could still talk easily. At least for the moment there was no awkwardness between them, and Stan had a feeling that no awkwardness would come.

"You're gonna regret it," Kenny laughed again, shaking his head. "You've already been home I take it?" The blond didn't see any suitcases, or a car in which these suitcases could be sitting, so he was taking a guess here. For all he knew, Stan was weird and didn't bring anything with him.

Stan nodded again. "I got here last night. Decided I'd go for a walk before the family woke up and kept me busy."

"Good move," Kenny agreed. "Your parents are well?" Kenny saw them around town occasionally, but he didn't really have time to ever talk to them. They looked fine whenever he saw them, but appearances could be deceiving.

"Everyone's fine. I think my dad's starting to go deaf, like my grandpa was, but other than that, they're good. Even Shelly, or at least she says she's fine. You never know with her. Apparently her newest boyfriend is an ass." Stan shrugged. "I haven't met the guy. But anyway, how are things holding up for you?"

"They're all right, I guess." It was Kenny's turn to shrug. "Getting some money saved up, but still where I was."

Stan's expression flickered to concern for a moment, but he quickly hid it. He'd have to trust Kenny was fine on his own, since he refused help. Stan opened his mouth to say something concerning the matter, but Kenny broke in first.

"We should all get together later," Kenny said, deliberately avoiding anything Stan had to say. He was glad his friend cared, but he didn't much want to hear it at the moment. "I've got to get to work now, but once I'm off, I'm sure the guys would like to say hi."

"Work? This close to Christmas?" Stan protested.

Kenny shrugged again. "Yeah. Today's our last day before our time off, though." Kenny turned to leave. "So I'll see you later then?" Seeing Stan nod, he grinned, patting the other man on the shoulder. "All right then."

Stan waved and watched a moment as Kenny headed off, probably to the construction site he'd seen on his way through town. He knew Kenny had become a construction worker with Clyde and Craig; his mother had told him that in a letter once. He was glad that Kenny seemed to be having success in that, at least.

Having seen one friend, his thoughts turned to another. He figured Kyle would be home for the holidays, too; Hanukkah, in his case, but home nonetheless. Kyle had told him once that his mother always insisted that her sons come home and visit her for the holidays, rather than her having to go to each of their houses. Gerald, of course, was as passive as ever, nodding and agreeing with his wife, but in an even more robotic fashion now. Over the years, they'd all seen how the man just gave in more and more, especially once his kids were gone. And since he was retired, his drive just seemed to have left him almost entirely.

Stan headed down the snow-covered streets, deciding to visit Kyle later, when it wasn't so early in the morning. It wasn't so early that he was the only one on the streets, but early enough that he might wake someone trying to sleep in.

He found himself heading out to Stark's Pond, a favourite childhood skating area. The trees around the pond were bare, their aged limbs looking like they were just holding up under the weight of the snow. As a wind blew through the area, disturbing the snow and the limbs on the trees, he heard them creaking.

The ice was covered in a dusting of snow that had been blown from the drifts. Likely later there would be many children skating on the ice; he didn't doubt that it would be thick enough. For now, though, and Stan was quite surprised by this realization, there was only one person standing there and this person was no child lacing up his skates.

"Kyle," he greeted, a slight amount of question in his voice, making sure he got the right person. Since his back was facing him, he could be getting the wrong guy, but he didn't know of too many other people in South Park with red hair like that. Even without the 'Jew-fro', he was quite certain he knew who the other was.

Kyle didn't appear surprised, probably heard his footsteps in the snow, though his expression turned from one of nonchalance to a grin when he saw just who it was who was approaching him.

"If it isn't Stanley Marsh," Kyle grinned, though didn't make any move towards the man in greeting. Kyle laughed, anticipating the other's question before he even asked it. "Only home a few days and I already can't stand my mother's nagging. The first words to pop out of her mouth when I arrived were whether I was married or not and that if I was married she was going to skin me since I obviously didn't invite her to the wedding."

Stan allowed himself to laugh. "She's still at it, huh? Guess that is your mother, though."

"True enough," Kyle shook his head. "When'd you get here?" he asked, turning his hazel eyes to his friend.

"Last night. Family wanted _me_ to visit instead of the other way around," Stan explained to Kyle as he'd explained to Kenny.

Kyle sighed, "As usual, mother made me come home. I tried to convince her to come out to my place, but she refused and said I would only work and work. Don't know how she figures that since I have the time off, but I'm not about to try and argue with her."

"No sense arguing with a brick wall, right?" Stan chuckled as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. Even with gloves on, the wind still bit.

"Right," Kyle chuckled as well. "So what brings you out to Stark's?"

Stan shrugged. "Just wandering. I wanted to explore since I haven't been back here for so long," he said, staring out at and around the Pond. He wished that he'd brought sunglasses since already the glare of the snow was hard on the eyes. He squinted and looked away from it before looking back to Kyle. "What about you?"

"Reminiscing," Kyle grinned with a side-glance in Stan's direction. "Probably ridiculous, but since this is where we spent a lot of our childhood I just like to come back sometimes."

The raven-haired man shook his head slightly. "You're far too nostalgic."

A silence fell between them, only the wind and the creaking limbs making a sound. Because of this lack of sound, except for those things, the pair heard the especially loud crack coming from above them. Reacting a split second faster than the other man, Kyle pulled Stan back as he made his own dodge from the falling limb. Had he not done so, the fairly large branch that came crashing down would have hit both of them.

Stan stared at the branch, justifiably startled. It wasn't some little twig that had decided to fall, but the whole limb of the tree and it was at least as thick as his leg. Stan looked up to where it had fallen from, seeing the splinters sticking out from the tree.

"Christ," he cursed in awe, running a hand through his hair. "That would've hurt."

"You think?" Kyle responded, looking from the branch over to Stan. "You're welcome."

"Yeah, thanks man," Stan laughed at his delayed reaction.

"Don't worry about it," Kyle laughed as well, slapping him on the back. "Let's head back into town before we die."

Stan turned and followed, taking this moment to glance at his watch. "Yeah. Better head back before my parents think I'm trying to avoid Christmas."

"Can't let that happen," the redhead added.

The walk back into town, short as it was, was in silence, at least before Stan initiated conversation again.

"Think Cartman will come home for Christmas?" he asked, glancing and seeing Kyle shake his head.

"Apparently his mom flew out a few days before I got here. He's probably sending her on some expensive vacation again."

"Ah," Stan said, noting the tone in Kyle's voice had changed. He didn't know quite what to call it. Irritation maybe? "What, he leaving annoying phone calls again?"

Kyle shook his head again, "Not since the voting thing. Last I saw him was when he showed up where I work."

"That's right, I remember reading about that in the papers. Some secret project," Stan encouraged Kyle to tell him more with his tone, but the redhead only gave him a look that said 'no way'. "Come on. What's he want with all you computer people?"

"Probably to take over the world," Kyle said, still not sure whether he believed that or not. Some part of him did at least, but there was also the doubting part as well. It was one of his internal battles lately and the one that he tried to block from his mind the most. His look hardened for a moment, but he broke out of that when Stan's voice cut in.

"Still on that, are you?" Stan sighed. "Cartman's not going to take over the world."

"You think he can't?" Kyle challenged, throwing a calculating glance his way.

Stan held up his hands a moment before reinserting them in his coat pockets. "Not what I said. I just said he's not going to."

Kyle was the one to sigh now. "Maybe."

"I'm telling you, he's not going to," Stan persisted. This wasn't a new conversation between them, of course, but he still wasn't about to back down. "Seriously, though. What'd he want?"

"I can't tell you that. If I could tell you that, the media would have already done that for me," Kyle's lighter tone returned more now.

"I'm surprised some tabloid hasn't found out," Stan wondered aloud.

"Cartman's sneaky like that. What he wants to keep hidden, stays hidden," Kyle said.

Stan felt he couldn't exactly deny that statement, knowing well enough that Cartman was good at hiding things he didn't want others to find. It made him wonder for a flicker of a second if maybe Kyle was onto something in suspecting Cartman, but he mentally shook himself. Why would Cartman go to all this trouble? Wouldn't he just try to do it the same he always had? The quickest and easiest way?

xxxxxxx

It wasn't even ten minutes later that Stan got home. As soon as he walked into the house, the aroma of coffee filled his nose and there was definitely no trouble hearing the television. It was one of the things that he took as a sign of his father's impending deafness, or near-deafness.

After removing his boots and hanging up his coat, he walked into the living room where, sure enough, his dad was sitting, watching the National Geographic channel. Randy Marsh was sitting in his housecoat, pyjama pants and slippers, leaning back comfortably into the couch with a hot cup of coffee sitting on the side table.

"Dad, must you listen to it that loud?" Stan had to raise his voice slightly and wasn't surprised when his dad just brushed him off.

"It's not loud, Stan," Randy replied, throwing him an insulted glare and returning his eyes to the television. He was one of those men who would never admit to needing a hearing aid since his pride wouldn't allow it. In his eyes, there was no way he was going deaf.

Stan shook his head, heading into the kitchen to get some coffee of his own. Walking into the kitchen, he saw his mother reading the morning paper and his sister eating some cereal. Both looked up at him, his mother grinning while Shelly returned to eating.

"You should give up," his big sister said, the Cheerio's crunching as she chewed them.

She was sitting on the barstool at the counter, leaning on it with her arms as she continued eating. She wore a pair of light blue pyjama pants and a white tank top that she wore when she slept. Her long hair hung loosely down her back and over her shoulders as her tapered bangs hung in front of her blue eyes.

Stan shrugged, opening the cupboard and pulling out one of the festive mugs that his mother had put in the kitchen. Pretty much all the dishes were Christmas themed now, including the spoons, which had Christmas trees on their handles.

"Maybe one day he'll give in," Stan said before adding what he wanted to his coffee after which he picked it up and blew on it to miraculously make it cool enough to drink.

Sharon Marsh laughed. "Your father? Never."

"See, what'd I tell you?" Shelly taunted mildly, pointing her spoon at him. "Just let him deafen himself and the rest of us with him."

The young woman stood now, taking her bowl to the sink. Her tall and lithe form was certainly different from how she'd been when she was younger. In high school she'd had some weight issues, but had finally curbed those. Now her thin form stood almost as tall as her brother's.

"So where did you head off so early this morning?" Shelly continued, leaning against the counter beside her brother with her glass of milk. "We all wake up and Stan's nowhere to be found. We were about to call the police."

"Sure you were," Stan rolled his eyes. "I didn't know I had to write you a note when I decided to go for a walk."

"You went for a walk?" Shelly's brow furrowed in amused questioning. "What the hell is so interesting about South Park that you want to go take walks?"

As soon as she had gotten the chance, Shelly had booked it out of South Park so quickly that a lot of the residents hadn't even known she was planning to leave. True, she did go off to school, but it was very evident to those who knew her well enough that she wanted out of South Park. She wanted bigger and better things. Things that South Park would never be able to offer her. So the idea of wanting to take a walk in what she called "The Little Shit Town" didn't make sense.

"Shelly, language," her mother warned. Even though they were adults, she didn't like her children cursing and though she couldn't prevent it when they were out or at their own houses, she wasn't going to let it slide under her roof.

"Sorry, mah," Shelly half-apologized. "Well?" she demanded when Stan didn't reply.

"I was just taking a walk," Stan was about to tag 'Christ' on the end of that phrase, but knew his mother would be even more furious with that than she had been with Shelly saying 'hell'.

"Don't see why," Shelly shrugged, heading off into the living room now and glancing after her, Stan saw her take a seat beside their dad and ask what he was watching. Hah, as if she couldn't hear it already. The neighbours could probably hear it.

Stan just shook his head and decided to get himself some breakfast.


	9. Chapter 08: Everything Set

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Chapter 08: Everything Set_

Kyle walked into the house, noticing Ike sitting in the comfy recliner in front of the television and looking very intrigued. After taking off his winter gear, he headed into the living room, glancing at the television screen instead of asking Ike what he was watching. The young man would definitely tell him to shut up if it so much as breathed too loud while he was trying to listen to this.

The news station was a world news station and it had marquees scrolling across the bottom of the screen giving other important news, but the main focus was on the sky view of the blaze that was ripping through San Diego, California. Smoke choked the air, so it was hard to tell exactly where they were, but the reporter and the camera-person in the helicopter was continuing their report.

"As you can see, the blaze still goes on strong, tearing through the city of San Diego, California, even in these winter months. There has been no word yet as to what started the blaze, but both natural causes and arson have not been ruled out," the male voice of the reporter said, shouting over the sound of the helicopter.

"Sam, can you tell us just how much damage there is?" the voice of the news anchorwoman asked, even as the image stayed on the thick plumes of smoke and the little bit of orange, yellow and red flicker that could be seen through it.

"At this point, the damage is pretty bad, so if these fires don't get put out soon, then the damage will be immense," Sam continued. "People have been evacuated of course, but the reports of homes burning down have been coming in."

"Have there been any reports of death?" the anchorwoman asked another of the many standard questions that she was probably going to ask. To give her some credit, she did sound genuinely concerned.

"There have been no confirmed deaths as of yet, but many have been hospitalized for burns and smoke inhalation, and others are missing."

Kyle took a seat on the couch, hoping it wouldn't creak too loudly as the anchorwoman said, "Thank you, Sam. We'll keep checking back to see if there has been any change."

"The story we're tracking right now is the rampaging fire in San Diego, California that has been burning since approximately four this morning," a second anchor person, this one an older gentleman with greying hair, picked up. "We now go to Heather Smith, who's got an update on what the President has to say about this situation."

The screen split, one side showing the anchorman, the other showing Heather Smith, who appeared to be outside the White House. Whether she was actually there or whether it was a backdrop could be questioned, but it wasn't important.

"Thanks, Sean, I'm here in front of the White House, where moments ago I was able to speak to President Cartman to hear his concerns about this fire. Take a look."

On the screen came a recording of Eric Cartman, clad in a suit and with concern in his expression. The brothers watched in continued silence as he began to speak.

"I will be doing all I can to get help to the people that need it and _then_ to figure out what started this fire. If this is arson then we need to stop this person before they do it elsewhere," Cartman said firmly before turning away from the camera. The image returned to Heather as she was at present.

"There is word now that President Cartman is indeed sending out help for these people as well as vehicles to help transport water to stop the fire. With any luck, we'll get this stopped before any further damage can be done. Sean," Heather concluded.

"Thanks, Heather. Now we go back to Sam in the chopper," the anchorwoman announced. "What news have you got for us, Sam?"

"To confirm what Heather has just said, trucks and other helicopters have been arriving with water in order to help stop the fire," Sam reported, the image going to a clearing through the smoke where a large group of trucks could be seen and then to the sky where helicopters could be seen dumping water on the blaze.

"Incredible," Ike said finally, making Kyle jump. He'd gotten used to the silence, but Ike spoke again. "Look, look," he insisted, pointing at the screen. There were now images of people running from the billowing smoke, apparently an amateur video having caught all the earlier mayhem before the reporters arrived.

"Yes, Ike, I see it." Kyle didn't quite understand his brother's enthusiasm, but it was interesting. Also a bit distressing to think about all those people now being left without their homes and he wondered just how many people they would find dead. Disaster situations made him uneasy.

And yet he continued watching since the news went on to report other things, but promising dutifully to return to San Diego should any new information come up about the fire.

The other news didn't prove to be anything out of the ordinary like the fire, but some of it wasn't really any less dire than the fire. For instance, there was a civil war that had erupted in Southern Africa and the States were now just starting to report it, even though it had been going on a long time. The people were looking to Cartman to see what he would do about it. Would he send in troops or would they all just be forced to sit back and watch?

It seemed that decision was still being made concerning that situation and Kyle wondered what other things Cartman might have piled on his plate that he would have to deal with every day. He also wondered at the fact that he felt a little pity for all the president endured.

xxxxxxx

Cartman sat in a large board room, where he'd gathered together all those who he'd commissioned to make him his computer system. Currently, he sat at the very back, observing in silence as the designated person from each company presented how the system worked, how it would keep others out and what all could be done on it. Though Cartman wasn't as good with computers as these people were, he followed along pretty well and kept everything important in his memory.

That was something else he'd discovered when he actually began studying; that he had a pretty good memory. He wasn't quite sure how much he could stuff in there and remember, so he only remembered the most important things, which was why he wanted this computer system. There were important things he wanted to keep on there that weren't so important that he need remember it lest risk someone discovering it.

The room was dark so that it could all be seen on the large screen very clearly and the presenter stood at a podium with a microphone before them. All the competitors were present as Cartman figured that they wouldn't try to steal ideas from each other if it was blatantly obvious that the idea was stolen. Not that it mattered anyway.

So far, it was all very interesting and some parts of each had stuck out at him, but no one company's results really wowed him entirely. He was impressed with each, sure, but he wasn't about to fall out of his seat from shock. He knew all this could be done, he just didn't know how to do it himself.

This was one of the many things that he had scheduled into his day, so even as he sat there and listened, he wouldn't be surprised if at any moment he was pulled away from something else. If the matter was dire, he wasn't about to just sit there and let it slide; he would get up and deal with it and these presentations would just have to be done another time. While this was important, there were other things that held more importance.

He didn't expect to hear much, though. The San Diego fire had left a hell of a destructive path, but they'd managed to put it out and now these few months later they were into the beginning of the rebuilding stages.

Investigation came up inconclusive as to what had caused the fire and whether it had been natural or otherwise, but it was out and things were being done. There wasn't much else they could do about the cause of the fire, and besides, Cartman had told the city's mayor that it was best they take care of the survivors before they go off for what could be months and months of investigation while the people are left with nothing.

Troops had been sent in to help stop the civil war, or at least to try and help stop the civil war. At this point, it was really difficult to tell exactly what would happen, but there was hope that it would all be for the better.

But despite the fact that if need be his focus could be easily diverted, it was solely on this right now. Already he was making decisions in his mind, but he knew that he also had to have some tests done. He had to make absolutely sure that no one else would be able to get into the system. Had to make sure everything would be safe. But he was confident in these men and women. They wouldn't let him down. Not even Kyle Broflovski.

xxxxxxx

Cartman turned on the computer as he took a seat in the chair that had been placed in the corner with the desk. The device was away from windows as he didn't want to give any the chance to see what it was he was doing on there. It was a matter of confidentiality.

His wait was brief as the monitor lit up and everything he needed came up on the screen, adding a light glow to his strong features. It was only a few weeks previous to his decision and now the product sat before him, looking perfect and secure. He was certain that everything from here on out would go smoothly. Would go just the way he wanted it to.

Everything was set now. He grinned.

**End Part I**


	10. Chapter 09: Headlines

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Chapter 09: Headlines_

CARTMAN PULLS ROCKETS FROM THE SKY  
_President says lives of our people are more important than alien life forms.  
_"We need to take care of ourselves before we go searching for others."

SPACE HELPS THOSE IN NEED  
_Billions from Space programs goes towards those who are in need in America and around the world.  
_President Cartman pulled funds from Space Programs across the nation, including NASA and is using this money to help those without around the world. Some money remains to maintain what is already in space, however, most is now being sent to organizations that help those in need, and the President is making sure this money is used properly.

ENTERTAINMENT TAKES A PLUNGE  
_No money wasted on space, no money wasted on entertainment.  
_For reasons similar to the pulling of funds from Space programs, President Cartman intends on using this money to benefit others, rather than just give us entertainment. Fewer movies will be produced and lower budgets will be used. Fewer concerts and fewer overpaid celebrities. What will happen to the entertainment industry remains to be seen.

NOT ENOUGH TO GO AROUND  
_The food crisis continues to augment, Americans worry about their meals.  
_As the world faces a food crisis, many Americans begin to worry just how they are going to get their next meals. What is going to be done to make sure that the world doesn't starve?

CIVIL WAR IN AFRICA MOUNTS  
_Authorities try to prevent genocide.  
_"We don't want this to turn into another genocide that's just swept under the rug like dirt. These are people's lives, and we can't simply turn a blind eye when we want to."

TERROR THREATS HAVE AUTHORITIES ON ALERT  
_Terrorist threats against the President and America have the authorities buzzing.  
_"Why would anyone want to assassinate President Cartman? He's the greatest thing to happen to this country!"

PROTECTING PEOPLE FROM A WAR ON TERROR  
_President doesn't want another WAR ON TERROR, but protecting the people is the highest priority._

CARTMAN SEARCHES FOR THE TERRORISTS  
_President uses his resources to search for the terrorists.  
_Rather than blindly charging into a country, Cartman is using all his power to find out who is behind the terrorist threats. Things will proceed from there.

AFRICAN OFFICIALS NAMED AS TERRORISTS  
_Leaders of the Civil War in Africa are behind the terrorist threats.  
_War leaders in Africa want other countries to back off, targeting the U.S. for their influence over the world.

PEOPLE SAY SAFETY OVER LUXURY  
_Americans willingly surrender their rights for safety.  
_As terrorist threats accumulate, the people of the United States don't want to face another 9/11 and surrender their rights in order to feel the safety the President can provide.

GOVERNMENT UNITED  
_Cartman and other government parties unite as one to face the crises.  
_"The reason that a few of our government officials have been let go is to have a more unified government," Cartman explained. "If we have too many opposing ideas, then we will waste time squabbling that can be better spent making improvements."

CARTMAN MEETS WITH THE U.N.  
_President heads to the United Nations to discuss solutions to the crises._

MEETING SUCCESSFUL  
_Working together to solve problems._

DE-NUKING THE WORLD  
_President Cartman works to disarm all nuclear countries._

STRICT REGIMENS PUT INTO PLACE  
_To bring resolve to the crises, Cartman instates strict rules and regimens for the protection of the people._

AMERICA TO FACE ONE CHILD POLICY?  
_To control the population in the food crisis, will the President instate the one child policy?_

AMERICANS SAY _WE_ DON'T NEED ONE CHILD POLICY  
_Citizens say the rest of the world needs the population control, not U.S.  
_"It's countries that don't teach birth control that need this! Our population is dwindling as it is!"

U.N. ENFORCED WORLDWIDE POPULATION CONTROL  
_At Cartman's request, the powers of the world work to instate birth control._

TERRORIST THREATS RETURN  
_Countries enraged by population control lash out and threaten war._

CARTMAN TO TALK WITH THE WORLD LEADERS  
_Cartman sits down with world leaders to truly explain the crises._

EYES TURN TO CARTMAN  
_THE most powerful man in the world?_

CARTMAN REMAINS IN THE WHITEHOUSE  
_Citizens don't think election is necessary.  
_Despite the fact that President Cartman was completely willing to run again against someone else, the citizens of the U.S. made it clear that they didn't want another election. Therefore, this year, elections will not take place and Cartman is automatically walking into his second term.

POPULATION CONTROL APPEARS TO BE WORKING  
_Reduction in growth rate looks promising._

AMERICANS SAY CARTMAN CAN DO NO WRONG

xxxxxxx

"President Cartman!"

"President Cartman! A word please!"

Cartman gave a smile as he looked out the window, watching the many reporters and even just common folk as they all struggled against one another, wanting to get a word with him. He felt more like a celebrity than a world leader, however, he didn't seem to mind all too much. As always, he seemed to love the attention. Besides, the more supporters he had, the better it was for him.

Giving a slight wave, he turned away from where they stood outside at the gate.He didn't expect that they could see him from the distance between them, but he knew eventually the message would get across that he was busy and had things to do. They would understand.

He crossed the room of the White House, heading to the place where his computer sat. On his desk, there were some confidential documents, all of which he had been scanning into the computer. He wasn't so trusting of internet sending; while he knew his computer was safe, who knew what others' computers were like. For all he knew, they could send it to the wrong person, or someone could intercept it.

No, he had everything delivered with special, high security officers. Ones he'd picked himself and who had been trained to his liking. Everything was strictly according to his standards.

And the best part? Everyone seemed just fine with that.

He'd seen the headlines on newspapers and internet websites. He'd heard them on the news. The people loved him and trusted him completely. Nevertheless, even with this complete trust, there were some things he knew they weren't ready to know just yet.

Those things were what were in the documents on the desk. Had he been out of the room, those documents would be in the impenetrable safe that was in the wall beside the desk. He saw no use in hiding it behind some gaudy painting or portrait, so it was out there in the open.

As he sat down in his chair, he got the sense that the group outside was beginning to disperse. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, for he knew that there were some who always seemed to be there, but there was a real sense of solitude around him in this moment. Maybe it was because he knew what he was doing was very important and he was concentrating on it.

After running a hand through his auburn locks, he picked up the documents and began scanning them in again. This only took seconds for each, considering he made sure he got the best and most efficient of everything. While some might say it was a waste of money, others would beat them down, saying that it was necessary for one of his stature to have such things, especially since he was using them for the sake of the population.

Of course there were handfuls of people who didn't like him, but he didn't pay much attention to them. Cartman had plans for those who didn't support him, but putting those plans into action just yet wouldn't be wise. Soon though. Very soon.

His eyes scanned over the documents, which were demographic reports of the different countries around the world. The populations' birth rates certainly were diminishing, even in countries where populations used to be completely out of control. Birth control, among other things, had put a stop to drastic population increases and there were officials that were put in place to make sure that the populations _stayed_ under control. Should anything start to get out of whack again, they knew just what to do.

He was pleased with what he saw, especially for countries like China and Africa. While almost a decade ago China had decided that they would allow their people to have more than one child again to avoid a drastic population decrease, Cartman had brought the severity of the situation to their attention. In the end, China had agreed to keep their One Child Policy as the rest of the world came to adopt it.

With much help, countries like Africa were being taught that massive procreation wasn't helping anything and only making things worse. Medical treatment was being brought to these people with the funds that he'd pulled from other projects that weren't a world priority, like the space programs and any funds that would be put towards nuclear weapons.

Very few had been against him for that. Nuclear weapons were widely feared and since there were so many that supported him in taking away the nuclear weapons, those who were against it kept their mouths shut. The people didn't seem to care where these nuclear weapons went after they were taken away from the 'dangerous countries', only happy to see them out of the hands of potential enemies.

The United States of America had long been the greatest power in the world, but now none really had the ability to dispute it. Not only that, but the United States no longer seemed as destructive as they had in the past, perhaps one of the reasons that everyone now let them have their power. The people truly were happy with the societal changes.

'All thanks to me,' Cartman thought, taking a drink from the large water bottle that always sat near him. 'Without me, the U.S. would have fallen to ruins and then the rest of the world with it. But looking at these reports proves that everything I'm working for will benefit the entire world.'

He leaned back in the chair, thinking things over as the many documents rapidly saved to his computer where none but him could get them. Other documents that he'd already scanned in told of the improved and continually improving economy. When people had feared that the economy was going to take a turn for the worse – maybe even towards another depression – Cartman had come along and saved them from it.

There were still some aspects that weren't one hundred percent smoothed over, like the food crisis, but they were getting there. For the food in particular, he'd allowed for agricultural lands to be saved since rapid population growth had died. There were still some issues to be dealt with, but he was confident it would all work out.

For the most part, things were going just perfectly. He couldn't really say that they were going exactly as planned, since one couldn't really plan how a nation and a world would react to drastic changes, but things were going to his liking, to say the least. And anything he had to complain about he knew would resolve to his liking as well.

Needless to say, the man was confident. Even as he sat there in his chair scanning documents, but it was documents like these that gave him his confidence.

Cartman stretched slightly before leaning forward, picking the documents up, replacing them in their folders and then standing to go to the safe. After opening it, he placed these documents inside where they would be secure. Just in case he needed them again; however, once the documents reached a certain 'age', they'd be destroyed.

Returning to his chair, he opened a folder on the computer, where there were many word processor documents, but also one other folder. He went to this folder, simply entitled "DC", and there within was another word processor document, also titled DC. He opened this, scanning over what he already had very quickly, though slow enough that he could still register what he was reading.

He made a few adjustments, fixed some spelling and when he reached the bottom of the document, he began where he'd left off, as if he hadn't left off at all. The man's fingers flew across the keyboard, the light clicks barely audible in his own ears as he could hear his own voice playing out what he wanted to say in his head. It was amazing that his hands could even keep up with his mind since this was something that he seemed to have been rehearsing and perfecting. Yet, he was still typing it out. Maybe just so it would just be concrete.

A few times he paused, as if wondering how to word something or if he really wanted to say something, but it was never long before he began typing again, working on what appeared to be an all too important declaration of some sort.

Of course none but himself had been privy to this document or the rehearsed version in his mind. Only he knew really what this was all about. There were some that knew vaguely his intentions, but otherwise he was the only one who knew its full extent.

It wasn't too long after that it came to completion and he sat back, going over what he'd just typed up with a grin on his face. He nodded in a few places, put italics to some of the text and once he was finished, he hit save and closed the document. Later he would go over it again with 'fresh eyes' to see if there was anything else he wanted to add or change. But one thing was certain, a change was going to happen.

Soon. Very soon.

xxxxxxx

Though measures were being taken to help the people in Africa, their civil war still continued. The reasons for this war, however, had turned and become something else entirely. Now the war continued because there were those who supported President Cartman and those who were against the interference of other countries, especially the U.S. These felt that they could progress just nicely themselves, without anyone's help, no matter how beneficial it was.

Terrorist leaders of the opposition had strangely vanished and while some had tried to take up the position, those men soon vanished as well. So, any terrorists that were among the group now were more secretive and they could only hope they were hidden.

The troops who had been sent to Africa were helping in what way they could, reporting back to Cartman regularly and they had been waiting for some sort of order to take things to the next level. Until that order had come, they could only continue to help those that needed it and try to keep the conflict to a minimum.

But as the sun began to climb into the sky that morning, smoke billowed into the air as yet another fire was set to some other forest or to some other village. It proved to be a village as many families came screaming through the smoke, but they soon fell to the ground. They didn't trip, they weren't pushed and they weren't ducking for cover, but rather they were shot and the sounds of guns could be heard ripping through the air. As the bodies fell, the screams fell, until some other horrified scream took its place.

This village belonged to one of the terrorist groups and the opposition. The ones who were burning it then and killing the people were of course those who supported Cartman. Up until this point, they had been more or less passive, avoiding conflict unless absolutely necessary, but here they were, walking through the village and killing any who stood in their way, as per orders.

For these were the orders they had been waiting for. These were the orders that would set everything in motion.


	11. Chapter 10: No Wrong

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Chapter 10: No Wrong_

As Cartman strode forwards, he was very aware of all the eyes on him. He could hear and see the cameras flashing, and while he had expected people to be waving their arms and shouting for him, the reporters were calm and waiting. He grinned to himself, wondering if it was something in the seriousness of his expression that kept them silent. Or maybe they could sense the powerful air around him.

The man walked under the sunlit sky, his light suit slightly disturbed by the soft breeze that was around him. His sharp eyes were faced forwards, however, would every once in a while turn to look at the crowd – judging, scrutinizing. None seemed to notice this gaze though, only continuing to take their pictures and wait for him to start his speech. The very speech that he'd been working on and that he had more or less memorized. Yet, a printed copy of it was folded neatly in his breast pocket.

Around him, though somewhat off to the sides, were several bodyguards, all in classic bodyguard attire, complete with sunglasses. Their eyes were also watching, but unlike Cartman's, their eyes were watching for potential attackers. And anyone who got too close was restrained immediately and told to step back. Generally, these people were just overzealous supporters, but they couldn't take the risks.

It was when Cartman finally reached the pulpit that everything seemed to fall still around him. For the longest moment, he simply stood there, staring out at all the people around him. None urged for him to hurry it up. None looked antsy. All just watched him, giving him their complete attention.

He reached into his breast pocket, pulling out the folded sheets of paper and slowly unfolding them, the sound of the paper echoing over the microphone. He smoothed it out on the pulpit, placing it in the clip that was on the stand in order to prevent the pages from blowing away. When he looked up again, he grinned kindly at the people.

"Welcome," he began, his voice booming through the microphone. "And thank you for coming." There was a little applause, but it died quickly and he continued again. "These past years have undoubtedly been a great experience as we have all striven to improve how we live in this world and resolve problems. Already, in a short period of time, we've made great progress in both areas and it is thanks to the support and work of the people of not only the United States of America, but also the world.

"When I was elected, in fact, even before, I had many ideas in mind to change our society, many of which have already seen light. These, as I see it, were well accepted by society and the benefits are clear. Because of things like controlled child birth, our populations are no longer going to overwhelm us. Because of regimens that have been put in place, we can live safer lives. And these were all done because you, the public, wanted them to be done. You have all allowed it.

"And now I come here before you today not to share with you the success that is evident around us, but to have your support in yet another step to making our world a better place to live."

He paused again, glancing down at his page, though he really didn't need to. So far, everything was going perfectly and he hadn't forgotten a thing. And now he could practically feel the excitement around him. Indeed, excitement. These people weren't nervous at all about what he was going to say.

_AMERICANS SAY CARTMAN CAN DO NO WRONG_

After all, they trusted him completely. In their eyes, he wasn't going to steer them wrong. He had their total confidence. Pretty soon, the entirety of the planet would be behind him, too.

"As I'm sure you're all aware," Cartman continued after the short pause. "The situations in Africa have been escalating, however, that has now been taken care of." There was a curious note to the silence now, most wondering just how he had swayed the terrorists in his favour. "Unfortunately," he said, deliberately slow, "the terrorists of that country had to be annihilated. Their threat, had I not given the orders, would have continued into the future as they did not see things how we see them. They did not see how things were becoming better.

"I do not look upon the taking of human life lightly, nor should I. However, in some cases, this needs to be done." Tension was filling the air, but he wasn't worried. "In order to strive for the complete betterment of the world, those who stand in our way need to see things as we do or they need to be taken out. Like I have done with the government. As long as there are conflicting opinions, things will never be at peace!"

Cartman made another deliberate pause, his sharp, honey coloured eyes watching the people again. For a moment, they appeared unsure, yet it wasn't long before they were nodding in agreement. They saw reason in his words.

"It is important that I have your support in this, just as I have the support of the other world leaders," he made sure to say this part clearly and firmly. This, he knew and saw, really grabbed their attention. This was something that they couldn't deny. If the other world leaders supported him, it couldn't be bad, right? "We will not be randomly slaughtering or taking life needlessly. All will be given the chance to reconcile with us and all will be educated in what exactly we are trying to do. We don't want to have to kill, but if the people can't come to see things our way…"

He trailed off deliberately, as everything in his speech was deliberate. The way he said everything. Every pause, every intake of breath and inflection of his voice; all of it carefully thought over as he knew this wasn't something that he could just dive headlong into. He was confident, but cautious, not wanting to have them turn against him. While he didn't have any problem with taking them out, too, he wanted as many supporters as possible.

"You have nothing to worry about if you are in concurrence with all the ideas I have and will set out. Make it known though that there will be careful watch for those who will go against us. I ask for your help in this, citizens. Explain to your non-supporting neighbours, friends and family just why these things need to be done and just how we will all benefit. Explain to them, but if they still don't understand, they should be turned over to authorities. There, another attempt to have them understand will be made."

He omitted what would happen afterwards, knowing that they were smart enough to figure it out. He simply stood there, the warm air around him and brushing against his skin as his serious composure continued to radiate. Keeping all seriousness was of course important.

"No harm will come to anyone who is willing to see where they have erred. No harm will come to innocents. Children especially will be dealt with delicately considering that many of them still have learning to do. Schools will help us in this teaching, which will of course help prevent as many deaths as possible. Already I have people who are working on teaching strategies and courses that will help children. Not only that, but adults will also be taken to designated schools and given in depth insight into just what is going on and what we intend to happen.

"All will be given a chance to understand," he repeated. A pregnant silence fell around them again, the only sounds coming from the breeze, the birds, leaves and the occasional rustling of paper. Cartman would have wagered that at that moment the whole world had fallen silent in awe, perhaps a little in fear.

Curiously, his mind turned to a one Kyle Broflovski, wondering silently what the Jewish man would think of all this. Had Kyle finally come around to seeing the light, or was he still rutted in his ways? If he were here, would he be standing and applauding, or standing and protesting?

Kyle would certainly be one that he had to watch out for considering all that Cartman knew about him. Kyle was the only one he was worried about in way of threat, but if he had Kyle agreeing with him and standing beside him in this then he would have nothing to worry about.

Indeed, the Day Walker was someone he made a note of checking up on.

Snapping out of the unexpected reverie, he noted that all were still watching him, waiting expectantly for him to continue. None protested anything he'd said and none had spoken. All were just waiting for his next words.

While he wanted to run a hand through his hair, he resisted, instead pulling the papers out of the clasp and flipping to the next sheet. Again, he knew what it said, but for the sake of at least looking like he was progressing some, he went to this next page, glancing at it for a fraction of a second and then looking back up at the people gathered before him in the open courtyard.

"Like with all else I do, I have ensured that these teachers are top of the line and that they are devoted to helping the cause. These teachers are no longer distracted by the teaching lives they had before, only focusing on the task I have given them and once they have come up with a suitable, detailed plan, it will be shared. They have also been instructed to come up with ways for you to help your family and friends at home the best you can. As I speak, they are finalizing details, so it is more than likely that within the next few days you will all be made aware what it going to happen with that.

"This isn't just going to be something that takes place here, but something that is going to happen world wide. If we're going to make a better planet, then I think you can agree with me in saying that we all need to work together. Not only that, but this is not race driven. There will be no discrimination or stigmas placed on people just because they are of a different race, religion, or otherwise.

"There is equality in this judgement, a judgement that needs to be done."

Another pause. This time, he was waiting for a reaction instead of just the silence they had been giving him. Some seemed to sense this desire for reaction as his eyes pierced them because a few claps broke out, followed by others until all were clapping and had they not already been on their feet, they probably would have stood up as well.

Cartman gave recognition to their praise in a slight bow of his head in thanks before raising one hand in a wave. Some began to shout questions at him, but that raised hand became one that commanded silence once again and Cartman leaned slightly closer to the microphone so that there could be no doubt in what he said.

"I promise that I will do everything in my power to do this as peacefully as possible!"

He leaned back now, hearing the cameras around him taking pictures again and as voices erupted around him. He felt a little like he was making his speeches again as he had when he had been on his campaign tour, except this time instead of winning their trust, he was working to keep it. Considering this crowd's reaction, he wasn't worried. And he was sure that the other crowds would react the same way.

xxxxxxx

Shelly brushed her tapered bangs away from her eyes as she sat with one leg crossed over the other at the table in the board room. It had been full only moments ago, but was now vacant except for of course her. Before her sat a laptop and a group of papers beside that along with a mug of coffee, all of which she'd brought with her to this room for the meeting that had just taken place.

Now, she was going through the information again, making sure that she'd gotten everything and that she could understand her own notes, but she was making very little change to the word document she had open on the small and thin computing device before her. In a sense, perhaps she was only killing time, because for her the meeting wasn't really over yet. This was just kind of an intermission.

The group that had been in the room had been of a fair size; there were a dozen of them, and not just women. There were seven men and five women within the group and while they had never known each other before these meetings had started a little over six months ago, they were all there for the same task and knew each other pretty well now.

They had studied the population, taking note of specific sociological demographics and aspects as well as psychological ones. Using this information at their meetings, they were forming what they felt would certainly have an impact on the population, and an impact that would last.

Several experiments had been done, some failing and some doing well, but they were getting results at least. And these results were delivered to their superior, who would judge them, make suggestions and then send them back so that more modified tests could be done.

This was the first time in a while that their superior had come directly to them. Well, to her, in any case. And oddly enough, Shelly felt a sense of nervousness and confidence. Why she was nervous, she wasn't quite sure, but the confidence came from the fact that the latest tests had proven to be successful. She was certain that their group had finally figured out a perfect strategy.

The woman stretched, raising her arms into the air before lowering them and standing up completely. While she didn't wear heels with her woman's pants-suit, her shoes were dressy enough that it didn't much matter. Besides, her black pant legs ran to the floor, so it was not like anyone could really tell the difference anyway.

The Marsh daughter was quite amazed at how far she'd come as she stared out the large window at the buildings and streets below. Only a year ago, she'd been struggling to get her career started, despite how long she'd gone to school and how much work she'd done, but now she was successful and she even felt powerful as she watched the people walking along the sidewalks and across the streets.

A year ago, she'd received a letter with no return address on it. While she would have normally thrown such things out, a sense of curiousity struck her with this letter. Maybe because it had been in a large manila envelope, or maybe because it obviously hadn't been delivered to her apartment in New York by the regular mail carrier. In addition to no return address, it also had no stamp. It had been delivered personally by the sender.

Upon opening it, she had been astonished by the contents. It was a job offer unlike any she'd ever received before, one that she felt she just couldn't turn down. At first, she'd wondered if it was too good to be true, but when she saw the plane ticket that would get her to the location where this boss was, she didn't doubt it. To this day, she wondered from time to time just how she'd been found and chosen for a job like this.

The woman turned upon hearing the door to the board room open again. She'd heard the voices out in the hall of people talking, but only one of those voices entered now. He shut the door, saying nothing as he walked over to where Shelly stood by the window and only giving her laptop and papers a brief glance before stopping by her side.

This was her superior. A powerful man. Many would call him _the_ most powerful man in American society today, if not in the world.

"Well?" Cartman asked, glancing at Shelly Marsh out of the corner of his eye.

Shelly met his gaze briefly, but quickly averted her eyes, returning them to the city outside. "Everything seems a complete success this time," she told him, her voice even and informative, yet her next words indicated the slight grin on her face. "It looks like everything will turn out just the way you want it to."

"Let me see the stats," Cartman turned his gaze on her again and saw as she nodded and turned towards the laptop.

"It's all right here," Shelly told him as he sat down. She leaned just slightly on the back of the high-backed chair, pointing over his shoulder at the document on the screen. "As you can see, the subjects reacted much more readily to this tactic than any previous ones. I expect there will still be those who will resist, but for the most part, you'll have complete support."

"You're all sure that these teaching methods will work?" Cartman demanded more than asked, but his voice wasn't harsh.

"The stats show that they will. The video files of the subjects are at the bottom of the screen there," she pointed again, though she figured she probably really didn't have to. Part of her wondered if she just liked being close to Eric Cartman, but as always she pushed the thought away. Nonsense.

As Cartman opened one of these video files, she reached and grabbed her mug of coffee, careful not to spill any on either him or the laptop, or herself for that matter. Despite the fact that it was rather cool now, she still didn't want coffee spilt everywhere.

This in hand, she turned away, heading to look out the large window again. She'd seen the videos; had reviewed them several times. Of course she had, that was how she and the others had gotten their reports done and the statistics that she was now letting Cartman mull over. Even if they thought that it was flawless, it was ultimately up to him whether or not this plan would be used or whether another would be devised. She understood his desire for complete understanding and support from the people, but sometimes she couldn't help but wonder if they were border lining on brainwashing.

'Ridiculous,' Shelly scolded herself, taking a drink of the now-bitter coffee. She didn't seem to mind though as she took another sip after that.

She too, of course, was well aware how Cartman had been during childhood considering Stan had been friends with him. The woman was well aware how manipulative and conniving he had been as a young child, but she was equally aware of the changes she saw happen as Cartman had gotten older. She'd heard what Stan said and she'd seen it for herself. And even now, standing in the same room as him, she didn't get the same sense that she had from when he was a child. She was certain that he wouldn't be brainwashing people… would he?

'Ridiculous,' her mind repeated, her brow furrowing slightly. Besides, this wasn't really brainwashing. Just teaching. That was all. She was a teacher. If this was considered brainwashing, then all teaching should be considered brainwashing.

She didn't hear any sound coming from the laptop and a quick look over her shoulder confirmed that he'd put on the headphones that she had had sitting there. She shook her head slightly to rid herself of the 'ridiculous' thoughts as she turned to look back outside.

As she did this, Cartman watched the videos, none of which were too long. He was certain that there were extended versions of these somewhere in the woman's files, but in order to save time, these were more or less just showing the beginning (the resisting person) and then the end result (how they were after education). Indeed, all their test subjects had taken well to the teaching, but he also knew that Shelly was probably right that there would still be some against him.

All the children proved to take well to their teachings, better than the adults, in fact.

'Children are more open-minded,' Cartman thought, his eyes watching the screen as he leaned on his elbows on the table. His hands were laced, sitting in front of his chin as the audio played in his ears. 'They take better to this sort of thing.'

When the video finished, he removed the headphones, placing them on the table again and sitting back a moment, thinking. After this moment of thought, the President returned to the documents on the computer, scanning over them again.

"Shelly," Cartman broke the silence in the room.

"Yes?" Shelly asked, turning back to face him now, inquiry in her expression.

"Get me copies of all this, and I also want the full length video files, too," he instructed, holding up a USB stick that he carried with him. It was empty at the moment, and he didn't much trust USBs anyway, no matter their convenience. They could be easily lost, and even though sheets of paper could be lost too, he felt that USB sticks had a greater chance of getting lost since they were smaller. Not only that, but since they transported data, they could also transport viruses. His computer was strong, but he didn't want to risk a virus anyway. For all he knew, someone could be working on a super virus against him as he sat there.

"Right, of course." Shelly strode back over to where he sat, setting the mug down and pulling up a chair beside him. She closed the snippet versions of the files and went to work at accessing the files that he wanted.

All of these were just as secure as the files on his computer since he'd had this laptop constructed just as his computer had been built. He and Shelly were the only ones who could access the information on this laptop, so while he could have easily done what she was doing himself, he didn't feel like searching for the files when she would know exactly where they were.

When she held out her hand, he placed the USB stick in it and watched to ensure that she got all the files he wanted saved onto there. He trusted her, sure, but one could never be too careful.

"Were there any others you wanted?" Shelly asked. "I could just put the documents on there, too," she explained, though was certain that he was well aware of that.

"No," Cartman shook his head. "Print those off," he said without explanation as to why he wanted it that way.

"All right," Shelly nodded, pulling the USB out and handing it back to him. "So what do you think?"

"Looking at things here, it all looks very promising. I'm going to go over it in more detail later, but I think we're set now," Cartman said with a grin, staring off at nothing in particular before looking over at her again. "You've done well."

Shelly offered a smile herself. "You're the one who chose us and got the team together. It's because of you that all this is happening."

"I know." Cartman stood now. "But you're all proving that I made good choices in picking you."

Shelly stood as well, closing the laptop and then watching as the President headed for the door.

"I'll let you know what I think," Cartman continued, pausing at the door, "and then we'll go from there."

"Right, I'll get the documents sent to you by tonight," Shelly said with a nod.

"Perfect," Cartman grinned and nodded appreciatively and then opened the door where his bodyguards magically seemed to appear.

Shelly stood there for a moment until the door was completely shut behind him, part of her wishing that their encounter had lasted just a little longer, but she shook herself again.

'Ridiculous.'


	12. Chapter 11: MIA

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Chapter 11: M.I.A._

Jay walked down the hall to his office by himself today, newspaper under one arm and morning coffee in his opposite hand. He didn't like to read, but always grabbed the newspaper for sports and the crossword. He was well aware that that counted as reading, but it was different, or so he said.

He was careful not to spill the beverage, avoiding others with care as he walked. His guess was that Sam wasn't there yet, or else he would have walked with her and at least would have had someone to talk to. He wondered if Kyle was already in his own office, hard at work on some program or another.

The green eyed man slowed as he walked by Kyle's office, but the door was closed. He knocked with his free hand and without waiting for an answer, he opened the door and went in. The office was empty though; the blinds were drawn over the window and the chair was set perfectly behind the desk. Papers were piled up, untouched and the computer was completely off. There was no sign of Kyle Broflovski.

The man sighed and closed the door, his brow furrowed with worry. This wasn't the first day that Kyle had not shown up to work. In fact, it was one of many and, not only that, but when Jay had gone to Kyle's place to see what was up, there hadn't been anyone there either. Or at least no one that he could tell. There was no response and of course the door was locked.

Heading down the hallway again, he passed others and offered good mornings, but his mind was certainly distracted. It seemed that Kyle had just disappeared without a trace. Unfortunately, Jay didn't know anyone he could call to ask any questions; he didn't know the Broflovski's phone numbers and he didn't know the phone numbers of any of Kyle's other friends.

Jay walked into his office, where he'd already set his things down before he went to get coffee and the paper, and sat in his chair, staring at the computer screen whilst taking a drink of the hot beverage. He'd been considering having a P.I. track the man down, but when he'd shared this idea with Sam, she'd raised the point that maybe he didn't want to be found. There was no sign of kidnapping.

'Why wouldn't you want to be found?' Jay wondered once again.

He'd been going over this thought in his head almost everyday, trying to get into Kyle's mindset which might give reason for this disappearance. So far, there was nothing that would give logical reason for Kyle to disappear. Nothing.

"Jay!"

The man jumped, some of his coffee sloshing out of his cup and onto his hand. He hissed in pain, placing it down and grabbing a napkin that was conveniently sitting just beside him (probably from yesterday's lunch).

"Jesus Christ, what the hell?" Jay demanded, wiping the coffee from his hand.

"I had to get your attention somehow," Sam stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her suit-clad chest. "This being lost in thought crap doesn't suit you." The woman was much more accustomed to his carefree, joking side, but since their friend had vanished, it was like he'd taken it upon himself to find him. Sam also wanted to figure out just where Kyle had vanished to and why, but she still believed that he didn't want to be found, for whatever reason.

"Well, what do you want then?" Jay wiped off the edges of the mug and the ring that had formed on the desk from where he'd placed the mug before throwing the sopping napkin in the trash. Examining his hand, he knew it wouldn't be too bad, but it stung at the moment.

"The boss wants to see us in his office," Sam told him. When she saw him nod, she added, "As in now."

"All right, all right." Jay stood from his seat as he ran his hands through his blond hair and headed to the door, joining Sam.

The now raven haired girl (she'd died her hair recently) looked at him pointedly before sighing and heading off towards the office where their boss would be waiting. She could only guess that he wanted to ask them if they'd heard anything from Kyle, but again they would have nothing to tell him. She found it a little odd that he was calling them to his office.

"Maybe he found something out," Jay speculated aloud, causing Sam to jump.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Sam fell into step with the man. "I hope everything is all right."

They slowed as they reached the office door where it sat quite a distance from the rest of workers. They slowed further when they saw a small group of dark-clad men standing in front of the door. The group looked over at them, seemed to mentally discuss something and then let them through as Jay and Sam gave each other a questioning look out of the corners of their eyes.

Nonetheless, they pushed open the door and walked in, surprised to see that their boss wasn't the only man sitting in the room. Sean Dickson sat behind his polished desk and another man sat before it, both waiting for Jay and Sam.

"Come in, come in," Mr. Dickson waved them forward and motioned absently towards the two other empty seats by the man that already sat in front of his desk.

Jay and Sam obeyed, wondering if the man that was sitting there was really the man they thought he was. When this man stood and greeted them with a slight smile that quickly vanished, they were quick to be polite. Not just because he was the President, but also because he looked unsettled. Something was bothering this man.

"As you can see, President Cartman has come to pay us a visit again. Before you ask, it has nothing to do with what he was here for before. This has to do with Kyle Broflovski," Mr. Dickson announced, watching as the three sat down again.

"With Kyle?" Jay asked and when he saw his boss nod, he turned to Cartman, looking past Sam to see him. "Have you heard something, Mr. President?"

Cartman shook his head, watching this man and woman carefully. "Mr. Dickson has only just told me that Kyle hasn't shown up for work for quite some time now."

"If you two know anything at this point, it's best to tell President Cartman now," Mr. Dickson spoke carefully, wondering if they were hiding anything. By the looks on their faces, they weren't and he didn't see any reason why they would, but with the President looking for Kyle, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something to hide.

"If I may, why are you looking for him, Mr. President?" Sam asked gently, careful to keep her eagerness to know down so that she would remain calm. "He hasn't done anything wrong, has he?"

"Kyle wouldn't do anything wrong!" Jay protested, ignoring Mr. Dickson's glare.

"You're right," Cartman agreed with a nod. "Kyle's always been the type to avoid any trouble. I'm looking for him for other reasons that I can't discuss, but he's not in any trouble."

"He's always been like that, sir?" Sam asked, picking up on this.

"Of course," Cartman affirmed and when he saw her confusion continue, it clicked in. "Oh, I see why you're asking. I guess Kyle didn't tell you that he and the President were childhood companions," Cartman grinned, but only slightly. Part of him knew he could only expect as much from Kyle, but another part of him realized that Kyle wanted nothing to do with him. The pair appeared stunned, but he didn't leave room for any further questioning. "He didn't say anything before he left? Where he was going?"

"Nothing," Jay said firmly.

"The day before he stopped showing up, everything was completely normal," Sam added, her brow furrowed.

"He didn't give any sign that he was going to up and disappear," Mr. Dickson also added, figuring his word would be stronger than theirs.

Cartman stared hard at the maroon carpeted floor for a moment before standing abruptly. "Well, thank you for your time."

"Thank you, Mr. President," Mr. Dickson said as he and the others stood. "If you hear anything or find anything out, would you please let us know?"

"I'll do that," Cartman nodded, "if you'll do the same."

"Of course, sir," Mr. Dickson nodded vigourously and shook hands with the President from where he stood behind his desk.

Cartman looked over at Kyle's apparent friends, noting their concern and wonder, but figured they knew nothing. He thought to have them investigated, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. They certainly didn't seem to be against him at all.

'They know nothing,' he told himself. 'If he's really hidden himself…this is going to be difficult.'

With a nod of the head, he headed out the door, leaving the trio standing there in silence.

"The President is looking for him?" Sam asked quietly after the man had left. "Really? Something isn't right here."

"I'm sure everything is fine," Mr. Dickson insisted, sitting down in his chair again and lacing his hands in front of him. "Whatever the President is looking for him for is probably nothing. You heard him, they know each other from childhood. They could be friends!"

"But Kyle's never spoken of personally knowing the President," Jay shook his head. "Even after all this time." Part of him seemed a little hurt that his friend wouldn't share this kind of information with him, but he knew it didn't matter right now.

"Look, I don't _know_ what President Cartman wants, all right? All I know is that he's looking for him and that no one seems to know where he is. Until he's found, all we can do is sit around and wait," Mr. Dickson sighed with exasperation.

"But, sir, we could-" Sam piped up. 'If even the President doesn't know where he is, maybe we _should_ look for him…'

"No. Leave it to the President," Mr. Dickson spoke firmly, watching them carefully.

"Doesn't the President have enough to worry about?" Sam continued, understanding that their boss didn't want them to go slacking off at work in search for Kyle, but not understanding why he would even give that order. Surely the President had bigger things to worry about than finding one man.

"Just don't go sticking your noses into things, all right?" Mr. Dickson demanded. "Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Jay conceded reluctantly and he and Sam turned to head out of the office.

Closing the door behind them, the pair walked down the hallway, listening only to the sounds of their footsteps at first. Finally, Sam said, "I don't like this at all."

xxxxxxx

The airport was loud, louder than would have been normal not too long ago. Sure, the regular sound of people heading off on vacation or wherever they were going was rampant throughout the airport, but of late other sounds had joined in the mix that people were still getting used to.

These sounds were of people struggling against authorities. Authorities who were taking them down because they didn't have the proper passes to get in and out of the country or even to travel around the country. Indeed, these new forms of passports had been issued not too long after Cartman made the announcement that a complete re-education of the people might be in order and that those who were against the changes were to be eliminated.

In order to obtain this new passport, one had to go through a screening to see where their loyalties truly lay. Extensive lie detector tests among other things were done in order to determine whether the person would pass the test or not and get this passport that allowed them to travel, because without the passport, it was impossible to cross borders.

Many in airports were trying to sneak by without, saying that that they hadn't gotten their passports in the mail yet (even though they weren't mail sent) or that they'd accidentally left them at home. Of course the officials weren't buying it, and these people were taken away. To where, no one cared to find out.

Also taken away were those who were found with counterfeit passports. But, like money, the authorities had ways in which to scan these and find them fake. There were some that were really well made and certainly the counterfeiters were making a bundle (until they got caught), but in the end, counterfeits didn't work, no matter how much someone wanted to believe in them. There were reports of 100 detection rate for counterfeit passports; no one had snuck by with one yet. These people caught were counterfeits were also taken.

Those with legitimate passports got through fine and could be on their way, which was why Stan Marsh was confused and frightened when he'd been taken from where he stood at the passport check desk and away from the other people. The men who asked him to go with them told him that his luggage would be taken care of and that he had nothing to worry about, but the raven headed man was worried. He'd done nothing wrong. Nothing. So why were they treating him like the ones who were barred from travel?

The room he sat in was fairly large and decently comfortable, which just drove him further into confusion. The way they were treating him, it was like he was a prisoner or a criminal (or so he perceived), and yet they were allowing him to sit in such comfort?

As far as he could tell, there were no two-way mirrors on the walls or anything of that sort. He did see on solitary surveillance camera in the corner of the room, but besides that and the men that continued to stand outside the door, there was nothing else that suggested what they thought of him.

On the faux-wood table that sat before him was a water bottle, something they'd given him for while he was waiting. So far, he hadn't touched the thing, even though his throat was a little dry from worrying. Stan wasn't taking the chance that this bottle of water had some sort of drug in it that would make him say things he didn't want to or to confess to things he didn't do. All he was really doing was staring at this bottle of water, since there was nothing else to stare at in this room.

His passport, complete with the symbol and barcode that proved he'd passed the test that allowed him to get the passport, sat across the table on the other side, nearer to the door. The men had told him that they didn't need the passport, but he wasn't about to be ambushed by some cop if they claimed that he wasn't willing to let them look at it. No, Stanley Marsh was thinking this through. Well, to the best of his abilities anyway.

It was a while before he heard footsteps echoing from out in the long corridor outside the room and if he was right, there was more than one person coming. His heart rate increased, the sense of worry really setting in again and as these footsteps stopped right outside the door, he strained to listen to what they were saying, but could hear nothing but muffled voices that he didn't recognize.

Like his heart, his thoughts were racing. He was innocent of whatever they were going to accuse him of; he knew that, and yet his mind was still trying to come up with ways to get him out of this situation. Perhaps if he said that he knew the President personally? Would that get him out of trouble?

Unconsciously, his hands gripped the arms of the somewhat plush chair he sat in as the doorknob turned just across the room from him. His eyes were no longer on the water bottle, but on that door and when it swung open, almost all sense of worry was washed away, replaced by curiousity.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Stan," Eric Cartman walked into the room, noticing the other man's expression right away and then the passport on the table. Slightly amused, Cartman picked it up, examining it before closing it and tossing it across the table. "Didn't they tell you that they didn't want to see that?"

"What's going on here, Cartman?" Stan asked suspiciously, his heart rate increasing again. Maybe what they were going to accuse him of was so severe that Cartman himself was going to deliver the sentencing blow.

"You can calm down, you know. The only reason I cornered you here was because I didn't want to chase you across the country. I had my guys track you down and asked them to hold you up here at the airport," Cartman explained casually, also taking note that the raven headed man hadn't touched the water. He couldn't help but grin a little.

"How come your 'guys' wouldn't tell me what was going on then?" Stan breathed, leaving both passport and water bottle where they were for the time being. He instead lessened his grip on the chair and kept his eyes on Cartman.

"They didn't know what I was tracking you down for, so what were they to tell you?" Cartman pulled over a chair that Stan hadn't noticed before from the side of the room.

"They could have told me that it was only you who was coming," Stan spoke over the sound of the chair being moved across the tile floor on its wheels.

"Only me? Stan, to them I'm the President. They don't know anything about our childhood," Cartman shook his head, still grinning. "In any case, I didn't come here to have a leisurely chat with you."

"Right, so what did you come here for?"

"I came to ask if you know where Kyle is."

"Kyle?" He wondered why Cartman would come to him when looking for Kyle and go to all this trouble to do it. True, they were still close friends…but not so much anymore that he would know where Kyle was at all times.

Cartman nodded seriously. "Our good friend hasn't shown up for work lately and a visit to his apartment showed that he hadn't been there for quite some time either." Cartman could see the dust that had been on the tables in his mind. It hadn't looked like anything was out of the ordinary except for that. Even the blinds had been opened, and everything was placed just where Cartman figured Kyle would place things; nothing out of the ordinary at all. "Even his mother – and we both know his mother very well – had no idea where he was and was shocked to hear that he hadn't been to work or anything."

"Ike?" Stan managed. All sense of calm that he had felt when it didn't seem he was in trouble was gone again at this news.

"Hasn't heard anything," Cartman shook his head, watching Stan's reactions with calculating eyes. He watched for any sign of deception, yet all he could see was fear in the other man's gaze. "I've spoken to everyone who's had contact with him and no one knows where he is. You're the last one who could know." Silence fell between them. "So, do you?"

"I haven't heard anything from him in a while. I don't even remember the last time…" Stan tried to think to any signs that Kyle might have given him before this vanishing act. "Do you think he was kidnapped?"

"Kyle?" Cartman snorted. "I doubt it. He's too smart for that." Cartman's expression stayed calm, but his thoughts darkened slightly. 'Too smart, indeed.'

"You have no idea where he is at all? Can't you track him down?" Stan persisted. If he wasn't kidnapped, then he'd disappeared for a reason… What was that reason?

"What do you think I'm trying to do, Stan? Everything has led to a dead end so far. Every person I've spoken with has led me nowhere," Cartman sighed, leaning back in the chair and trying to be patient. He had to wait until Stan calmed down a bit more, he wagered, before anything substantial would be revealed…if there was anything to be revealed at all.

"What if it's like some terrorist thing?" Stan tried as his eyes wandered around the room, as if that would give him answers, or at the very least ideas. "Terrorists that know that the company he worked for was in on that whole secret project computer thing."

"I would think they'd take the whole company hostage then," Cartman reasoned. 'This isn't terrorists, Stan. Come on,' he mentally shook his head.

"But if they knew that he knew you from childhood-"

"Don't you think they would have made their demands by now? For a ransom or just simply making threats? It wasn't like he disappeared yesterday, Stan. He's been gone at least a week. And there hasn't been _anything_ like that reported, Stan. _Anything_. And I keep a _very_ close watch on terrorist activity."

The fluorescent lights above them seemed to buzz in wake of another silence that fell between the two men. After a while, Cartman sighed and stood, the wheels of the chair rolling against the tiles once more.

"Looks like another dead end, here," Cartman concluded. "Thank you for your time, Stan. And don't worry, your flight situation has been taken care of." Without waiting for Stan to reply, Cartman pushed the chair off to the side and left the room, leaving the door open as he did. He considered telling Stan to let him know if he heard anything from Kyle, but he wondered if he even would. Or if Kyle would even contact him anymore.

Stan watched as Cartman left and as his 'guys' remained standing by the doorway. He could also now see his luggage sitting out in the hallway and absently picked up his passport as he stood. As his did this, a thought that hadn't occurred to him during the conversation dawned on him.

Why was Cartman searching for Kyle?


	13. Chapter 12: Outside

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Chapter 12: Outside_

The overcast sky that had been showing signs of rain and the thunder had been ever drawing closer in warning of its coming and it was finally upon the city. Light grey, whispy clouds turned to thick dark ones that hung over the populace and thunder seemed to shake the now rain-drenched ground as well as its occupants and visitors. Yet, despite this, a group of people were assembled outside on the sidewalk.

Under large beach and golf umbrellas (for there had so far been no lightning), at least two dozen people—protestors—were gathered. Sandwich board signs sat before them on the pavement with their messages painted in large letters and noticeable colours. The people spoke with anyone who walked by, eager for their point of view to be seen. Eager for what they saw as madness to stop.

An occasional car splashing by honked its horn, but ultimately continued on its way. Vulgar comments of the protestors being traitors to their country were thrown in by passers-by.

And yet, even with the rain, teeming down in a steady hiss, and the lewd comments, all the protestors continued to stand and sit by the large brick wall. Beyond this four-sided wall were grounds that led to a building of many stories, but only one use. Within the red-brown brick, and the reflective windows, were people. These people…were children.

Children learning classes differently as well as different classes than would have been taught before. Children learning the classes that would benefit the world in their President's eyes.

SAVE OUR CHILDREN

This was _his_ school.

BRAINWASHING IS WRONG

Following _his_ programs.

STOP THE MADNESS

Ultimately, the protestors knew they wouldn't be there long.

Nearly oblivious to the protesting bunch outside—indeed, it was more like ignoring them—Shelly sat in an office on the top floor. She could see the buildings outside through the rain-streaked windows, could see the streets below, but chose to ignore these distractions, instead only listening to the sound of the element.

The woman had been informed earlier by a campus security guard that the protestors were there; she'd already taken the time to make sure they would be removed shortly. The little matter of public property and freedom of speech didn't concern her, seeing the children as more important. And these children should not—in her understanding and opinion—have to deal with being bombarded by ideas that would in due course only damage them in the end.

Currently, she was alone in her large office, avoiding business for a moment of relaxation. She leaned back in her chair with her eyes shut while blocking out all unwanted sounds. Only one particular sound, or the voice of emergency would succeed in breaking her out of her slumber-like trance.

While long ago she thought she would have been teaching children, she instead found herself not only overlooking the school, but acting more as a school board committee head, receiving directly from Cartman just what he wanted to be enacted in his schooling system. While she didn't find this to be quite as exciting or fulfilling as teaching the children herself, she was honoured.

In addition to this, she kind of was teaching, since she had to instruct the instructors on what was to be done and how. Weekly, there was at least one session to ensure that everything was being done properly and more importantly to ensure that it was being well received. To make certain of this, Shelly sometimes sat in on classes. Not only did it give her a sense of confidence in their work, it also killed some time.

If she felt that things weren't being done properly or that the children just weren't getting it, she would hold several meetings a week to address the problems and to solve them as quickly as possible. On any occasion where it was shown that the teacher was the problem and not the students, that teacher would be "let go", as it were, and sent for their own re-education.

At the moment, she was "breaking" from…well…doing nothing. She had finished what she need to do and while one might think it should give her the opportunity to rest, she figure that she should probably be trying to find something else to do. She valued her job and wanted to keep it no matter what. There was no way she would find a better job anywhere and she didn't want to go back to the life she'd been living before Cartman had given her this opportunity.

She rubbed a hand over her eyes before opening them and staring at the greyish ceiling. A flash of lightning caught her now open eyes and she glanced towards the window, swinging her chair around to get a proper look. Disinterest clouded her eyes.

'Snap out of it. Stop relaxing and work,' her mind told her. 'You aren't here to sit around.'

"Fine," she muttered aloud in response to her own thoughts. She wrapped her thin fingers around the arms of the chair and pushed herself up, not even stretching.

Ensuring that her computer and laptop were safe—the computer shut down and the laptop both shut down and locked in a drawer—she headed towards the door. Her footsteps were silent across the carpeted floor and the opening door silent on its hinges.

Silent footsteps became echoed on the tiled floor of the school hallways. The elevator was easily accessed; it dinged the moment she pressed the button and the doors shuddered open. While stepping inside, the doors close and the elevator began to move, heading downwards.

On the thirteenth floor—indeed, there was a thirteenth floor—she got off and stepped into the hallway. It was empty and she could hear only very faint voices from beyond the thick doors. This floor was occupied by eighth graders, ones a bit harder to teach considering they had been exposed to other forms of education before this schooling had come along. They were teachable, though. Of that, Shelly was certain.

'Easier than adults,' she thought absently, glancing into rooms as she walked by. Through the frosted glass, however, she only saw shapes, rather than actual features of people.

She wasn't sure what she was looking for, if anything, but she figured she would stop when she felt the need. Until then, she would continue down the relatively plain hallway; the only 'exciting' thing about it was the school colours—red and white—adorning the cream coloured walls in the form of two semi-intricate stripes near the ceiling. There was the occasional bulletin board as well, but other than those, not a whole lot. Artwork had been ordered, but had not yet arrived on campus.

Shelly stopped when a door opened just down the hall from where she was; since it was behind her, she turned to look in that direction. She saw a group of teens come out and then another group and of course she figured that class had been let out. Glancing at the silver watch on her wrist, she saw that it was still a little early, but didn't try and stop the students. Instead, she walked over to the classroom, slightly amused as the students veered away from her.

Grinning as they whispered, she headed into the classroom where she saw a man putting a textbook and some notes into the desk and then picking up a briefcase. The man did a double take, catching her with his peripheral vision."

"Mrs. Marsh!" the younger man visibly jumped. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Save it," Shelly stepped into the classroom, looking at the boards and scrutinizing. "You know that students are supposed to stay in class until the bell rings."

"Come on, Mrs. Marsh—"

"Miss Marsh," Shelly correctly sharply. She wasn't married, and never had been. She'd been engaged once, but that was different.

"My apologies. We finished early today, so—"

"The material for the class is designed to consume the entire period, Mr. Porter," Shelly purposely threw a threatening look his way and then looked out at the grey sky. "So what are you leaving out of the lessons?"

Mr. Porter, a man barely into his thirties, nervously took the textbook and notes out of his desk again and handed them to the imposing woman as she stepped forward and held out her hand.

"I promise you, Mrs.—Miss Marsh that I'm not leaving anything out. See for yourself, it's all there. These kids are just really smart. They get it right away—"

"Are you positive of this?" She leafed through the book and notes. "You've quizzed them? Asked questions?"

"Yes, yes. Of course," Mr. Porter grinned, white teeth showing. "There's no point in forcing them to stay if they don't—"

"Do you generate discussion? Ask them to make connections?" Shelly demanded, seeing that he had indeed covered all the material, but she didn't see any discussion notes. "You can speak at them all day, but if they don't have some input, it's meaningless."

Mr. Porter shifted, glancing around the room, trying to keep reasonable composure. He knew arguing with this woman would be dangerous, especially if he raised his voice. "Come on, Shelly—"

"Miss Marsh," she warned, sharp eyes flickering to him for a threatening flash of a second.

"If you just bore them to tears, they won't learn anything," Mr. Porter persisted, crossing his arms.

"That, Mr. Porter," she slammed the textbook on the desk, "is why you make it interesting. Give them reason to talk."

"Kids today don't care about politics," the already greying man's brow furrowed.

Shelly nearly threw her arms up in exasperation, but instead walked to the door and closed it as the bell finally did ring. She even went to the length of locking it before whipping around, her hair falling in her eyes.

"What the hell do you think this school is for?" She kept her voice low, but powerful, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "This isn't just some shit school in the middle of nowhere"—images of South Park Elementary flooded her mind before she pushed them aside—"we're here to show these kids the importance of all this. To show them what the President is accomplishing for not only our country, but the world. Do you understand that?"

"Of course I do! That's why I'm here!" he took a defensive step backwards now, half wondering if the temperature had just dropped ten degrees and thinking it had gotten darker.

"Then I expect you to start abiding by the rules of this school. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he gave in sheepishly.

"I want a thorough report of your classes'—and I mean all of them—progress in my mailbox by the end of tomorrow. If it is not there, I will be calling you into my office personally."

Not bothering to watch his reaction, she turned and headed briskly to the door, unlocking it and opening it forcefully. Outside were a group of uniformed students who quickly formed a path for her and nodded respectfully. She nodded in return.

"You can go in now," she told them before heading off down the hallway.

Students were heading into classrooms and before long the hallways were empty again. The halls were empty before the bell rang for class to start. She had confidence in the students.

"It's just the teachers we have to watch," she muttered, looking around absently.

Even with re-education, she knew it was hard to teach an old dog, new tricks, as per the saying. They just needed an eye kept on them, like Mr. Porter.

Sighing with exasperation, she decided whether she should go to another classroom to check things out, but decided instead that she would just ask for everyone's reports a few days early. Usually the reports were due Friday, but considering what she'd just seen…

'Maybe I should be going to the kids instead,' Shelly mused. 'A school-wide test to see where they are now instead of waiting until the final exams.'

The original idea was that they would be able to trust the teachers' reports, but Shelly now thought that that wouldn't be enough.

'I'll have to talk to Cartman.'

He trusted her to make decisions, she knew that, but she didn't feel comfortable with not telling him. Part of her fearing what he would do if he disapproved.

'Don't be ridiculous,' she told herself. 'Why would he disapprove? It makes sense and will give us a better idea of how we're doing.'

When she came to one of the elevators, she hit the button to take her upwards; before long, she was standing inside.

'Besides, I wonder if he would really punish me,' she leaned against the wall of the moving "room". 'No, of course he would. If he were to favour me over others, it would damage his credibility.'

As the doors shuddered open, she stepped out.

xxxxxxx

"All right everyone," the officer stepped out of the police car, followed by a handful of others. None had weapons drawn, but it was obvious that they had them. "Move along, you've had your say."

"We're not leaving until these children are free from this trap!" a woman shouted at the officer.

The female officer sighed, trying to keep her temper in check. "This isn't a trap, ma'am. It's a school. The children are not forced to go here."

"This isn't a school, it's a brainwashing facility for mindless Cartman drones!"

"Sir, I'd like you to watch your mouth," another officer butted in, but the man instead looked like he'd rather start a fight.

The tall woman, Officer White, stepped between them before an incident broke out. Her gaze was stern and commanding, silently ordering her fellow officer and the man to stand down.

"Listen, you people cannot stay here," she reiterated, wondering why they would want to stand in the rain anyway. As it was, she was blinking more than usual to keep the rain out of her eyes.

"This is America! We can stand wherever we want!" Another man was shouting as he took a step forward. "This is supposed to be a free country!"

"Sir," White continued, "this _is_ a free country, but not only have you been asked to leave the property by the Head Mistress, you are loitering." She motioned to the sign behind their setup. "In addition to that, this is an emergency vehicle zone. If a fire truck were to come along, you'd be blocking the way."

The protestors all looked at each other through the raindrops, as if silently conversing. Some began to whisper as Officer White only stared at them, waiting with her fellow officers to move in. The red-head was well aware that ultimately this would result in their being taken away, even if they agreed to disband.

Thunder erupted and cracked sharply behind them; it had been preceded by lightning. It appeared this was going to make an impact upon the group's decision.

"Fine," the one man said, looking away from his fellow protestors. "We'll leave and go home."

"I'm afraid going home is not an option, sir," White told him calmly, turning her head and nodding before returning her attention to the man. The man she nodded to immediately got on his APB and began speaking. The crowd began to murmur and spectators had begun to gather. White spoke over them, raising her voice as a truck rolled into sight. "You're all going to have to come with us and it would be easier if you came without a ruckus."

Other officers began to move in, reading the protestors rights and informing them of what was going to happen.

"What the hell is this?! You can't arrest us!" someone shouted whilst being apprehended.

"You're not being arrested," White said, still calm and watching to make sure things didn't get out of hand. "You're being taken for re-education."

"Yeah! Take those traitorous bastards away!" a spectator shouted.

"They should be shot for being anti-American!" another added.

"I can't be taken! I have a family!" a female protestor struggled, resisting an officer who was trying to lead her by the arm.

White only shook her head as the back of the police transportation vehicle was opened.

"You have time to be away from your family to protest, but not to undergo re-education to benefit your future, their future and your country?" White shook her head again and stepped aside.

As the protestors were loaded into the large truck—some handcuffed, some not—cheers came from the swarm of spectators, as well as lewd comments and insults. White turned to another officer, motioning her over.

"Yes, ma'am?" the woman asked, leaning in to hear over the noise.

"Get rid of all this," White waved her gloved hand in the general direction of the protestors' set up. "Burn it back at the facility."

The other woman nodded, gathering a few other officers before the small group went about collecting the effects.

White overlooked all this, not budging until the truck was heading off down the rainy road nor until all the protestors' things were packed into the trunks of cruisers to be taken for destruction. By that point, spectators had cleared away and Officer Martha White was left to climb back into her cruiser, soaked to the bone.

xxxxxxx

The following few days were quiet outside the school. The protestors' spot was vacant as no one dared to take their place; someone had posted a sign—more like a poster—declaring that more anti-Americans had been defeated on that ground, but the sign was already tattered by the weather and defaced with graffiti. Some of these comments written across it were praising, while others were admonishing.

Those who had been caught writing the slandering phrases were taken away almost immediately. Some "true Americans" took to threatening violence on them, but most simply called the authorities, as they knew Cartman was aiming for a peaceful society.

xxxxxxx

In the typical dark vehicle that would take her to work, Shelly sat in the back seat, pleased at the lack of activity outside her gates, save for a few supporters who eagerly waved at her. The weather was better today, only a little cool, but no rain. She rolled down her window and waved back, but then quickly rolled up the window again and turned back to the pages on her lap.

They were printouts from the PowerPoint presentation that sat on her laptop in her bag and she was making sure that she hadn't missed anything. The title at the top of the page currently before her eyes read "Re-education in Teens"; these were for the meeting that was to take place later today.

With her pen in hand, she made a few scribbles here and there—notes of things that she'd just thought of or that she didn't want to forget. The notes weren't that neat since her hand was shaking with the bumps of the car, but she figured she'd understand her own notes. Either that, or she would remember them without reading them since she remembered things better when she wrote them down.

This car was provided so that she could be safely transported back and forth between wherever she was and wherever she wanted to go. Currently, of course, she was headed for the school for the day to sit behind her desk and in a conference room.

Beside her, secure in the cup holder, was a Green Tea, which she gingerly sipped every once in a while, not wanting to burn her tongue, but wanting the beverage. So far, so good.

Adding one last note to the last "slide", she put the papers in her messenger bag and fastened it up. As she sat back, she picked up the cup of Green Tea and sipped at it as she looked out the window. The sights passed quickly, but she knew them, so she didn't pay them much attention. It was just somewhere to direct her gaze.

Those outside the car heard the breaks squeal from other cars as the one carrying Shelly went through the red light. Those outside the car heard and saw as metal met metal as vehicles collided. Crunching metal masked the gasps in the streets.

The car jerked violently as it rammed into the vehicle in front of it, which had stopped. Both of these continued out into the moving traffic, jerking again as other cars in turn hit them. Shelly's jolted sideways as another rammed into its side, only to be spun moments later as another clipped its nose. The vehicle stopped when it slammed hard into a truck waiting in the turn lane across the intersection. This truck shook and was pushed sideways slightly, but otherwise didn't move.

Damaged cars, smoking.

Airbags, deployed.

Panicked and shocked witnesses, speechless.

Glass on the ground, sparkling.

Sirens, wailing.

Other drivers and passengers, injured and dead.

Driver, unconscious.

Shelly Marsh…


	14. Chapter 13: Here

**Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman  
**_Chapter 13: Here_

"Hey guys, did you hear the news?" A young woman walked down the stairs and into the main area of the room quickly. Her voice held a mix of urgency and awe, which drew the others' attention as she took off her coat and set it on the back of the chair she walked towards.

"What?" one of the men turned away from his computer, his hands hanging limply from the armrests.

"You know that school where the Cartman Brats are?" she continued as she sat down in the chair and then rolled noisily across the tiled floor. The Cartman Brats was a term that all in the room were familiar with, and a term that they all used readily. They just had to be careful if they left the building.

"Duh," the man said on behalf of everyone in the room.

"Well, the headmistress—"

"Was in an accident," another beat her to the punch. This woman shrugged off her colleague's glare. "It just popped up."

"An accident?" a redheaded man now turned away from his own computer.

"Mhmm," the first woman affirmed.

"Says here," the second said, pointing at her screen, "that it happened on the way to the school this morning." She was reading the small caption that was under the video clip now loading on her screen.

Without saying another word, the redhead turned back to his own computer and minimized what he was working on. In full screen mode, the announcement hadn't popped up for him, but now with the program minimized, he could see it flashing orange on his screen. He clicked it open, the report flying up enlarged before his eyes so that he could see it, even as one of the others set it to come up on the projector so that everyone could watch it.

"I'm Blair Edwards, reporting from the intersection of Main and Right, where Headmistress Marsh's car was in a collision this morning. Police have since cleared away the wreckage, but it is still uncertain as to exactly what happened.

"Witnesses say that Miss Marsh's vehicle simply did not stop for the red light, colliding with the stopped car in front of it before both went into the intersection. Here, we have a clip from the intersection's surveillance camera. We warn that it may be shocking to some viewers."

The shot cut from the brunette man in the suit with the microphone to the intersection. They could see that the light changed to red and the cars had come to a halt while the others waited for their light to turn green. A collective gasp ran through the room as Shelly Marsh's car rammed into the back of the one in front of it and sent both skidding into traffic. As the rest of the accident played out before them, they fell into horrified silence.

"There were three fatalities in this incident, not including Miss Marsh or her driver. Both are currently in hospital in the intensive care unit. Police are not releasing any information about why the car didn't stop; alcohol, vandalism and even intentional attempt to kill Miss Marsh have not been ruled out at this time.

"Blair Edwards—"

"You think it was an assassination attempt?" the first woman asked as the other closed the report.

"Could have been," a man shrugged, glancing over at the redhead to see his reaction.

Kyle Broflovski was still staring at his computer, but now he was bringing up the internet and going to work to find anything he could about what had happened. Already, there were tons of forums up with people talking about it and hoping the she would be all right. This wasn't substantial though, for anyone could say anything on forums. He needed reliable sources, none of which seemed to have any information for him.

The room had fallen into silence, the others watching him and listening to the sound of his fingers typing madly across the keyboard. They could tell he was getting frustrated.

Pushing away from the computer, Kyle ran both hands through his short hair. "Jesus Christ." He hadn't even been able to pull up any hospital documentation, which should have been easy enough. 'They're withholding all information…'

"We'll find out who did it," the man from before continued. "If it was one of us—"

"I don't think one of us would have done that, Steve," Kyle turned to face them now. "Without consulting the rest of us?"

"You never know," the first woman commented almost flippantly. "Someone could have gone rogue and is trying to do it on their own."

"Could even be another group entirely," another man piped up now. "I mean, we can't be the only ones. We've discussed this time and again. If another group did do this I wonder if we should try and get in touch with them."

"I don't know about that," Steve shrugged, "But whatever the case, we have to look into something like this. This is big. How do you think Cartman will react?" He was asking the question generally, but looked pointedly at Kyle. All of them knew well his connection to Cartman; that was something he had disclosed from the very beginning.

Kyle fell into silent thought for a moment. "He'll probably try to use it to his advantage somehow. A way to tighten up 'security'. Make the people even more afraid and things like that."

"Or get them all to rally against whoever it is that is going to be put to blame for this. To get them to stand as 'one nation'," the second woman mused aloud.

"Or that," Kyle nodded in agreement. "It's hard to say just what exactly goes through that man's head, but I know that it's not good. No matter how much he wants us to think it is."

"So what should we do?" the first woman asked as the group fell silent. "It's way too early to do anything drastic. We don't have much fire power."

"Kel's right," the other woman nodded.

Not all of their group was there at the moment, it was too risky to gather all at the same time unless absolutely necessary, but even with the numbers they did have, it wouldn't be enough to take on a nation of Cartman followers.

"We'll just have to keep doing what we've been doing. Gather all the information we can on this," Steve shook his head slightly as if showing that he was at a loss for what else to do.

As Kyle sat in silence, a thought came to him. Without really realizing, his thoughts came pouring out of his mouth.

"I could call Stan…"

"What?" They all turned to him.

"He would know what's happening with his sister," Kyle continued, only having half-heard them.

"Don't be stupid, Kyle!" Kelly—Kel—said immediately. "I know that guy's your best friend or whatever, but it's way too risky!"

"Kyle might be onto something," the third man spoke again.

"What? Are you both insane?" the other woman snapped.

"I'm not saying that he should contact his friend," he said slowly, making sure Kyle was paying attention, which he seemed to be. "I was just thinking that maybe Cartman will use this to try and draw him out. I mean, maybe he's _not_ worried about you being a threat, but if he _is_ then he might try to catch you with this incident. It clearly hits close to home."

Kyle nodded in agreement, falling into thought again. He would have to be really careful how he acted in this situation, knew he would have to be careful all along. Essentially, he'd fallen off the grid. He'd abandoned him home, his job, his friends; he'd cut off contact with everyone, including his parents. There were missing persons reports out there for him, which he'd so far been able to evade. If he tried to make contact with anyone, even Stan, it might be just enough to give him away to Cartman.

Because of course that was who he was really hiding from. When Cartman had set up that re-education process, he knew that he would be a prime target. Kyle knew he couldn't get a passport now, which one needed to travel. He'd barely made it away as it was, retreating to this place and finding these others that shared his stand against Cartman.

'If I try to contact anyone,' he counseled himself, 'I'll not only be risking myself, but all these people, too.' He glanced up at them, as if to make sure that they were really there. They'd gone back to discussing something, but seemed to be keeping a close eye on him. Watching them, he figured they were trying to set up ways to get information on the accident. 'I can't contact anyone.'

The thought made him a little lonely, even considering those around him. They were nice enough people and while they were growing to be friends, he felt a sense of loss towards the friends he already did have. Would he ever see them, or his family, again?

"Hey, Kyle," the third man, his name was Bart, snapped him out of his reverie. He was now standing in front of the redhead. "How's the work coming?"

Shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, Kyle turned the chair around with a spin and invited the other man to look at the computer screen as he pulled up the program again.

"It's getting there. There are just a few things that I can't figure out. See this part here?" he pointed to the left side of the screen.

"Mhmm," Bart nodded, one hand on the back of the chair as he leaned forward.

"I'm having trouble duplicating it here," he pointed now to the right side of the screen.

On the left side was an enlarged image of what appeared to be a code. On the right was an almost identical code; for the most part it was, but there were a few areas that were off.

"Once I've got those figured out, we should be good," Kyle glanced up at him, seeing the man shake his head. "What?"

"I don't even know how you got that close, man," Bart stood straight now. "I've been in computers for years, but this kind of stuff amazes me."

Kyle only grinned.

"Well, when you crack it, just bring it on over, 'cause we think we got the chip figured out now. We're going to double check it, but it looks identical," Bart told him.

"That's because it is identical," Kelly came over and sat on the edge of the table where Kyle had his computer set up. "I keep telling them that, but they don't believe me."

"I don't think it's a matter of them not believing you," Kyle said, "but a matter of making sure. We don't want to send someone in there if we're not positive that it's all identical."

"Exactly," Bart said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "The last thing we need is for one of our guys to get nabbed at the border."

What they were working on were passports; counterfeit passports that could pass off as the real thing without anyone so much as blinking an eye in question. The only reason they were even able to manage this was because the other woman, Joanne, had a passport. A legit one. She'd gotten it when they first came out, when she still believed in Cartman. She had yet to share with them just what had caused her change of heart, but they were trusting her for now.

With her passport, they were able to examine it to determine just what it was that made every other counterfeit identifiable. They'd gotten their hands on some counterfeits before and examined them closely as well. The barcodes looked good, the print was fine, the paper and binding even seemed identical. It wasn't until they got their hands on a real passport that they were able to dissect it.

It was actually Kelly that had found it. Within the cover she'd found a tiny microchip, something that no one would notice and that could be easily overlooked. That was because it was so paper thin that it couldn't be felt by just touching the cover. There was no bulge that gave it away.

She had found it as she was examining in minute detail and with extreme delicacy; they had opted that the only way they would find out what was different was to literally pull it apart if they had to. Indeed, it had taken doing just that to find it.

This microchip, they wagered, had some sort of information on it that proved it to be legitimate to Cartman. Scanners would detect it and if it passed with the computers, then the passport holder was home-free. If not, well, the consequences were evident.

So what they'd needed to do was figure out just what it was on that chip that passed the scanners. What they'd found was this code and while it looked easy enough, they quickly found that duplicating it wasn't going to be. There seemed to be a certain pattern of code they needed that would make it all fall into place. At least, that was the theory that Kyle had. What it could be, he wasn't sure. He'd come close a few times, sometimes even closer than he currently was, but there was just one missing thing he felt. Something that would make all the code fall into place.

"You'll get it," Kelly said, looking at the screen now herself before throwing a grin his way. "I have faith in you."

"Thanks," he said as he turned his attention back to the screen. He shrunk the images so that he could see pretty much all the code again and went to work on it again.

Kelly stared at him a moment prior to looking at Bart. "Now come on," she jumped off the table. "I'll show you myself. The thing is friggen perfect!"

"Yeah, yeah."

As they walked over to the other side of the room where Steve and Joanne were, Kyle paused a moment, thinking again of the accident. He couldn't help but wonder how the Marshes were taking it. He couldn't help but wonder if Shelly was going to pull through. Since he couldn't find out how severe her injuries were, he didn't know if she was on the brink of death or if everything was going to be fine.

He cringed slightly at the thought that his best friend might be trying to contact him, looking for some sort of advice or just someone to talk to. But he couldn't risk it. Not yet.

'Sorry, Stan.'

xxxxxxx

Stan looked over in the corner where his mother sat in a chair, pretending to read a book. He saw her turn a page once maybe every ten minutes, if that. He didn't blame her though, knowing that she couldn't take her mind off of the same thing that he couldn't take his mind off of. And that was the woman in the bed, hooked up to the beeping machines and appearing to be only asleep. She'd been unconscious since the accident though, so sleep likely wasn't the state that she was in.

Randy paced around the room, staring at the floor tiles as he did, though every once in a while glancing up at his daughter, as if he'd heard some stirring. Even with his bad hearing, he seemed to suddenly be able to detect the quietest noises. Each time his hopeful gaze would fall to disappointment and he would start his pacing again. Sharon didn't even tell him to stop, as she might have normally done. Stan wondered if his mother even noticed this pacing at all.

He was sitting in a chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees and his hands laced in front of his mouth as he hunched over. His focus flitted around the room, but always returned to Shelly as she lay under the covers in that bed. Occasionally, he would reach out and grasp her hand in hopes that it might miraculously awaken her, like in the movies, but so far it had done nothing. No miraculous, slow opening eyes to greet him—ones that would look around curiously and be followed by a voice that would innocently ask what happened.

A silent scoff was issued, knowing that even if she asked he would have no answer to give other than that her driver hadn't stopped at a red light and had nearly killed her. That was three days ago now and still no one seemed to have any answers for him.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye to the doorway, where Cartman had stepped in on the first day of her being in the hospital. He'd offered his condolences and seemed sincere enough in them. He also promised to make sure that the culprit was caught and dealt with. This attack, as he called it, would not go unpunished. To Stan it had come across that Cartman had some idea as to what was going on, but he wasn't about to share it.

This frustrated him and he was also unsettled by the cold air that felt like it entered the room as Cartman came in. At the time he brushed it off as just being grief. He was looking for someone to blame, even the president of the United States of America, despite how convinced he was that Cartman had changed for the better.

Now he couldn't help but wonder if he had though. It didn't really make much sense when he thought of the possibility that Cartman would try to kill off his own head of the schooling board, unless Shelly had done something, which he was certain that his sister had not. She adored that man; would do anything for him. That had become evident. Was this a plan between the two of them then?

Stan sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes. This sigh caused both his parents to look over, probably in hopes that it had been their daughter that had made that sound. When she saw that it was Stan that had sighed, Sharon went back to pretending to read her book.

"Why don't you go get something to eat or something, Stan?" Randy tried, his voice weary, but he made an effort to hide it. He walked over to where his son sat and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "You've done nothing but sit here."

That was the truth, though the same could be said for his mother. And he could easily say that all his father had done was pace around the room each day. He nodded wordlessly, however, just to appease him and he stood, stretching his limbs. He looked to each of them and was about to offer to bring them back some coffee or something, but saw that his mother's tea still sat untouched on the windowsill beside her and his father only shook his head.

He headed out of the white hospital room into the white hallways, where guards, appointed by Cartman, of course, stood by the doors. They nodded at him after a quick glance and let him pass, probably making a mental note to let him back in when he came back.

This floor was silent. Completely so, besides the beeping machines in Shelly's room and the occasional sound from a room somewhere down the hall. Cartman had taken over the whole floor to ensure Shelly's safety as she recovered. Even her driver was on a different floor, though he was guarded too, having several police officers there, ready for him to become conscious again. He'd woken up once already, but wasn't coherent enough to answer any questions that the authorities wanted to ask.

Stan headed to the elevator, where even more guards were. Again, these glanced at him and nodded before even pressing the button for him to head down. The doors dinged open and Stan stepped inside in silence, watching the backs of the guards' heads as the doors shut and the elevator began to descend after his pushing the button.

In the elevator, he flipped open his phone, checking for any missed calls and messages. He'd already gotten a call from several South Park residents, offering well wishes for Shelly. To his surprise, even Mr. Garrison had given them a call. At first he'd wondered just where all these people got his cell phone number, but then he figured that Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski had probably sent it their way. More like Sheila would have.

Currently all that came up on the small screen was his background picture and the regular stuff. No missed calls and no text messages. A sense of disappointment filled him.

'You know he won't call,' Stan told himself again. 'Whatever he's hiding from, he has to keep hiding.'

As the doors dinged open again, he placed his phone back in the pocket of his jeans and headed for the coffee shop.


End file.
